Tragoedia
by Joshua Chung
Summary: Chapter VII Summary: My stories aren't for the faint of heart, nor for those who don't have patience for my performance. Art takes time. Stories take time. The sublime takes time.
1. In Media Res

Summary

Death is simply part of the process. Every death - the most cruelest of deaths - they all drown in front of the nature who stares in apathy. I hate it. It is a loveless voyeur. It can bear everything and goads us to to commit greater atrocities. So allow me to be the tragedian to tell you tales. Stories that today's festive cannot compete. Tragedies of one Ra duelist: Dimitri.

* * *

 _The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing._

― _Edmund Burke_

* * *

Horror and tragedy have been recurrent throughout human history. So what's the point in marking a date for my story? Let's say, the time this misfortune that I'm about to tell, a popularizing theme was reoccurring. Back then, and arguably today, many pseudo-intellectuals and Philistines were exploring the doctrines of transmigration. These artistes mainly used the idea of reincarnation to investigate their self-indulgence. Blessed with powers so godly, they transcend from human to god - and alienate themselves from us mortals. These hedonists, profane the sanctity of love and abandon themselves to the corporal pleasures. These lowbrow lummoxes created themselves worlds to escape into their unsophisticated fantasies.

Whether the doctrines themselves - that is, of their validity or their probability - I have nothing to say. What I will say, however, that much of our disbelief stands because no system is so simple and so little repugnant to the understanding. Now, with that said, I have my argument on reincarnation, I may even revisit it, but that will be for another time. This story, I will tell, explores my relation and my first experience with the process. Be warned. It does not end well.

To my utmost sincerity, I cannot remember how, when, or even remember where, I first became acquainted with, Jaden Yuki. Too much of my life has since passed, and particularly on this night I find my memories feeble and lacking. I dare not provoke myself to imagine the scene. Even to this day, I feel an insufferable gloom when I remember my last days in Duel Academia. I emphasize the word "insufferable" because the event will never invoke the sublime; that duality in enjoying the other half of what we perceive as pleasure. The odd state of consciousness where we feel a sense of the poetic, the sentimental, a humbleness in seeing that particular desolate or terrible image.

I should know, I was the first one to see him. For sure, I remember looking upon the scene before me - upon the small room, and the simplicity of the furnished apartment - upon the lamp, that glowed a dull light in the back - upon the bare, faded yellow walls - upon the stereotype of a teenager's bed; messy and unkempt. Each thing I saw in that room oppressed my soul with depression. Sorrow I can not compare to anything other than melancholia. It's a feeling I have always felt when the high comes down - the comedown - the bitter lapse into the mundane - the moment when the fun stops being fun and realize that the world is ugly and cruel. Cliché and deplorable, just like these lines.

Funny enough, the first thing I saw was his dirty socks. His feet covered in white, pristine, wool socks that loses its unspoiled-ness at the sole of his feet. His pants, stained with some sauce I can't identify; it matched with his vibrant red blazer. His hands, relaxed. His head, limp. His neck, contorted. But it was his face; his gaunt, ghastly face - whiter than those disgusting porcelain makeup. Those tiny glasses did nothing to cover his lifeless eyes. They were glossy. Blank. A drool. Was that a drool? I could not tell. That scares me.

Allow me to explain. What terrifies me is not remembering the posthumous state, but how vicarious I feel whenever I imagine it. There is an iciness, a sinking, a sickening feeling in the heart when I picture his body. Just recalling it makes me ill. There was no grand meaning in seeing death, no existential revelation, no message of comfort that would whisper me soft nothings like: "don't worry, everything will be alright."

My friends, death brings despair.

I sincerely do apologize for taking too much of your time for expositions. As I said earlier, my memories are feeble and lacking. These are no exaggeration. I have died too many times to remember if this was how the story went.

Eyes shuttered - capturing the false image of serenity that is in front of me. Wilderness of glass. Death's domain, never stirring. The horrendous tranquility of the sea - and here I stand, in front of this calmness, in front of the little cliff. The "little cliff," I hope you understand the difficulty in writing sarcasm on paper, grew. It was a sheer unobstructed precipice of a cartoonish beige colored rock. Probably twenty or thirty hundred feet from the ocean to the crag that I was standing on. Ordinary people, sane people, would not have been tempted to be within half a dozen yards of its brink. Me? I'm practically asking fate to push me over - leaving them my duel disk and my handbag. In there, my effect and my recent score.

To be quite frank with you all, I guess I'm not normal. Worse, an event to this day, I would find myself in absolute rapture in taking in the terrible majesty of tonight. Occasionally, I would dream about my perilous position. Often time, I would look for a cliff like this and stare beyond the horizon. Sometimes I would throw myself upon the ground, cling to the grass around me, and never look up. In rare cases, I would have my hands on my eyes, prostate, and cry.

A verisimilitude of my sonorous heart - full but fast staccato heartbeats - as I vainly attempt to not listen to the impish voice in my head. That radical, primitive, impulse that maliciously whispers in our ears: "aren't you at least curious about the butterflies you'll feel when you fall?" Perhaps the reason you may disagree with me is that of our philosophies of perversity.

Another aspect that I'd wish to brush up on is the aspect of perversity. Recently I've read horrendous fictions that distort perversity to only focus on the physical aesthetics of one's body. To think of perversity just as this is erroneous to the highest degree - and I wish to dissuade that thought. Perversity isn't merely sexual deviance. At its core, perversity is immorality. It is the absolute contradiction to what is right or proper. It is to be wicked and depraved. Let's say, for example, there is something we had to do - and it's in our best interest to do so. We know delaying it will only make things worse. We remind ourselves every day we're going to do it. We're consumed by a particular obsession to start our work, with the anticipation that ignites our soul to action. And then, we push it aside for tomorrow.

I too argue that there is no answer other than feeling perverse - the irony being that I use this word without full comprehension of the world's principle. So now it is tomorrow. Now we're impatient to start on our work - our anxiety begins to grow - we need to get this thing done. With our concern also comes an unexpected guest. An unwelcome guest. A guest, who is nameless that urges us to feel an unfathomable craving for us to say: "eh, not today." What's worse, is this urge become stronger as time passes. Now we only have an hour left. Our mind, split between the dichotomy of getting started with our work - and saying, "screw it." The clock rings the knell of our fate. That unwelcome guest flies - it disappears - we are free. Our spirit reignited. We are going start our work now.

... _but_ it's already too late.

If this sounds familiar to you, then it should - I've directly referenced the Imp of the Perverse from Edgar Allen Poe. Mr. Poe's insight on perversity is something to note. After all, I did take Yugi's deck. There was no reason for me to do so. The notes specify how my fate was to be determined. I was supposed to lose earlier in the morning. To someone dead nonetheless. I have the tickets in my pocket. I'm not on academic probation. I've managed to accumulate enough points to advance to Obelisk Blue. I have friends by my side to be the most optimistic whoreson of an impersonator.

So why did I do it?

Mr. Poe may be the only one who understands that I, in this tragic story - as I warned that this tale would not end well - am a victim of the Imp of the Perverse.

Hm, rereading this draft, made me realize that I haven't mentioned the notebook. How silly of me. The most crucial McGuffin that made me descend into this madness. For you see, the journal I found laying precariously outside of my room - could be described nothing else other than the _Necronomicon_. This old book, so typical of a 70-page notebook (it even have the number of pages on the cover), held the secrets to my world. It allowed me to succeed immensely in this world, and it was all because of this book.

Dimitri!

I didn't even turn at the shout. What was the point? I left a figurative crumb trail for them to catch me. It was a matter of time before they came here. I thought I was quite amusing when I left Mr. Poe's copy of Descent into the Maelström at the crime scene. It would clue them the possible locations I would be. Now why would I do that, you would ask. Well, sometimes we need to fulfill an urge. The urge to descend into the perverseness. The joy of being the master of your fate; while puppeteering others. The immorality of such action, only the imp could malevolently plan and supplant. It was just the pure joy of - oh what do kids call it these days?

Oh yes. I remember now. It was to "fuck with them."

The breeze died down; there's no need for my scarf to cover my mouth at the very least. I heard more clattering footsteps - crunching the grass underneath their feet. Strange, I don't recall the notebook that noted more people than Syrus and a few others. Then again, is anything the same after that day?

"Dimitri, the gig is up! We know you have Yugi's deck!" I continue to ignore them. My attention focused more on the serene scene before me. The moon, split in half - a two-faced beauty. Drown in a kaleidoscope of stars - Ursa wrestling with Polaris. The vastness beyond what our imagination could fathom. Once I thought the world beyond this galaxy would be wondrous and bright - do you recall seeing a collection of impressive pictures, detailing the intergalactic space? The tragedy in discovering that astronomers have to make many adjustments, such as adding color and patching multiple photos together, to that raw data before released to the public. Our eyes have not evolved enough to see the vibrant hues that the Hubble telescope captures. The misfortune in discovering that most celestial objects, such as nebulae, emit colors that are too faint for human eyes to make out. To us, it'll forever be a black pit of emptiness.

"Fun times are over!" A girlish voice snapped out petulantly. I continue in immerse myself in the skyline, the dark sea, and the greyish black skies. The moonlight is shining down on the cliff. There was no special significance in it. I just thought it looked pretty to mention. The seas were starting to churn. The tides slammed onto the jagged rocks below. The voices whisper again in my head: "Go ahead, jump head first. Don't you want to know what it feels like when the base of your skull smashes open like a watermelon?"

"Give the deck back, right-"

"It's a nice night isn't it?"

"-now - huh?"

The waves became tumultuous. Now that, I admit, is more ominous than the moonlight imagery. I took a deep breath and absorbed the sight. The once still sea - self-agitating to regain the life it once had - heaved and roiled waves after waves. The once dark abyss, now intermittent with white ruptures of salty ocean foam. The clamorous white horses stampeded into the sandy beach of Duel Academia - the night sky, covering us from the vast audience that looms over us. My eyes narrowed at the starry night sky. Are you entertained? Is my tale original enough for you gods?

"Gods? Hey, Dimitri? ... You okay there buddy?"

Oh dear, did I think aloud the last two questions? No matter, I'm already perceived as a madman by half the school, what does it matter if the other half is now starting to believe it too? I - a madman? That is one outrageous joke. A joke so stupid, it almost broke my serenity.

Oh no, my self-amusement - it is no longer containable. A chortle escaped from the corner of my mouth. Something light slowly climbed its way out from the pits of my stomach. It scales up to my diaphragm, up to my throat, and finally to the largeness of my mouth. A quiet chuckle. A chuckle I could not stop. Though I tried, I could not find the will to mask the hilarious idea - that I am the insane one. I must have disturbed my guests with my laughter because the only noise I hear other than my maniacal laughter is the stormy sea that is starting to build upon momentum.

Dimitri?

My laughter - it just would not die. I needed to show dignity. I need to find zen. Imagine the body. Imagine the grotesque corpse that hung on that disgusting molding ceiling. Imagine that boy's sad fate in allowing Fortuna to weave his fate. Wallow in the misery of that feeling. Take that revulsion and find the phlegm. Breath in, and breathe out. Phlegmatic. The ghastliness - the stiffness of his body when they brought him down.

"Sorry," though my heart wasn't genuinely feeling it at all. "It's been, an unusual night."

I finally turned to my audience. There, in the center stood Jaden Yuki, our spectacular hero. The optimistic one. The one that never shuts up, even when the atmosphere is at it's worse. The blissful one that nearly everyone wants to choke in their sleep. Well, that is, if this was the world where tragedy didn't mar all of us. Without his friends, much of that has died. What stood in front of me is another tired Slifer.

Someone who wants to go home.

Alongside him, were the star pupils. Now I hope you caught that bit of sarcasm there. I could never stomach these morons after I realized who they were. The notes were deliberate in emphasizing how they did not belong in this world. There were countless of scratches and evidence of discontent as the previous author that wrote this book hinted. Whoever wrote the notebook did their damnedest to attempt to make them mesh with the world. The more I pondered on this issue, the more I saw this alienating experience. Dialogues that I initially believed to be normal were nothing more but extras meant to enrich the background.

The first of these stand-ins that stood out in front of me was a tall young man - and I do mean tall; where most children stand around two to five inches short from six feet, he seemed to have passed that boundary. Obsidian black hair, with eyes to match his handsome face. Even at a young age at sixteen, his families blessed him with incredible genes. Baby fat non-existent, he seems to appear in his early twenties rather than looking awkward like many students that attend here. Like I, he wore a yellow blazer - signifying his status as a Ra student.

But make no mistake, the man in front of me is no comrade of mine.

The second of these extras - a pair, a blue-blazer couple, oh me; Shakespeare, could they be the star-crossed lovers? Are they doomed to die, hand in hand as well? When I see such a romantic sight, I feel disgusted. A nauseating spectacle, two people who see nothing but the good in each other. How long will that last? I scoff at the idea of a perfect duo. A pair who never fight with one another. They signal as the lovers on the hill. Look at us, their actions proclaim. Look how much love we have for each other. How quaint. How naive. How dare they. How arrogant for them to think so. What makes them so much better than our parents? Who has suffered for us to live with privileges that not many have? Just telling this story - a story that would've never existed if it weren't for the patience and what I'd describe as "tired love" that my family have for one another. Look to in the mirror and see your mother and father staring back. Every day I thank them. Who are they to say that their love is superior to that?

How do they look like you ask? Google image "cute couples." Pick one. Don't worry; I'll wait. If you want to make them gay, go for it. It does not matter to me. If they're going to be miserable together for the rest of their lives, who am I to stop that?

There were many other I can describe, but to my absolute shame - there was two that did catch my fancy - but for all the wrong reasons. The notebook did warn me she would be my shadow. I severely underestimated the contempt I am capable of containing. My opposite. My first impressions of her from that notebook was nothing but hostilities. In the manuscript - it depicted every move, every step she made with each duel. Even against me; with Yugi's deck; with the legendary Black Luster Soldier by my side; I still lost. It was there I knew I'd despise her, show her no respite for my detest. I knew tonight; I will have my cake. I will have it, and I will eat it. I will savor that damn cake. It'll be the best damn cake I will ever eat.

Oh look, she's hiding behind Zane, how _endearing_.

So who is person number two behind the mysterious duo?

"Dimitri, you little shit."

Why it's none other than my Co-Dorm Head(mistress) - Julia Chung. She may appear to have a tough exterior, but I know the truth. That woman is a man - and she did not belong here. The notebook had proclaimed it too - the vile words, the vomit-inducing disgust the person had for this woman. It held nothing back to dismantle the woman I once respected. Once a goddess to impress. Now a chimerical monster to reject. A man from a different world. I may have once mentioned earlier of the caustic opinions of what many of these artists do to the fantasies of metempsychosis. He was no different. Rancid trash - that has overstayed his welcome here.

"Okay, it's official." The bratty one of the couple began, "Dimitri is one-hundred percent being an evil duelist. I mean, did you even see the way he stared at-"

Hm? Oh my, it would seem my malice for the two wretches were noticeable. What a droll I am for making them terrified. Then again, I must keep myself composed. I mustn't ruin the surprise. After all - they still think I'm someone else. Then again the skank has a point. I harbor atrocious thoughts; none of them are savory to tell to the public domain. I believe I had written earlier the questions of my mentality; now, I do believe I am quite insane. Or haven't I? I can't seem to remember.

But I have to concede that the Virago has a point. The girl that abnormally looked more mature than she appeared, she never wronged me. She had never insulted me. She was always cordial with me, and I to her. For her identity or popularity, I had no desire.

It was the mere presence of her in that book - the consequence which resulted from me in a humiliating loss; and making me imitate her of all people.

Whenever her eyes fell on me, I only imagine the future that laid for me. Someone who would forever be the fool that merely copied. Someone who had nothing ahead in life. He was solely another chapter for someone else's book. Another stepping stone for someone else's glory. Their time and fortune to shine upon them. They are the pantheons of this golden era.

Yes, now I remember why I loathe her. Her naivety and unbreakable optimism that rivaled Jaden. Even with Black Luster Soldier, she still didn't break. She kept fighting. Fortune smiled upon her and granted her that victory. A Deus Ex.

Well, not today. That I'll guarantee myself. No amount of gods intervening our duel will change this outcome. Their eyes trained on me as I picked up to my duel disk. Or rather, the earliest prototype. Unfortunately, for my plan to fall into place, some sacrifices had to be made. For one, all the decks I've built to imitate these so-called "best" - I sold them. What's worse the resale value was below than average. I needed to sell my Duel Academia issued duel disk to compensate the funds necessary for this. It matters not what happens after this night. Success or not, I will leave here by expulsion at the end of this just for purloining and profiteering school property.

"Okay, you thief. You had your fun, but now it's over." The handsome one, yes I admit it - he's handsome, I can appreciate that as much - rebuked. "Hand over the deck right now."

In any case, in replacement of the standard duel disk issued by the school, a beaten round disc was attached to a rusted-steel bracer. It did look pathetic compared to the multifunctional uses of the current duel disks. It was much trickier to use - and I will explain why - but for now, let's not keep the eye candy waiting.

"Well if you want the deck so much..." I pulled my satchel next, bringing two items. The first was much more valuable than the latter. At first glance, it looks like a half-face Venetian mask. A rip off of the Phantom of the Opera. But as the metaphor goes, don't judge a book by its cover. It may seem like the most melodramatic-cliche device, but there is a reason for everything. Be patient, and you'll get your answer soon enough. For now, all of you know that the first item I pulled from my bag is that mask. For now, it was going back. It's not needed for now - it'll have a much more crucial role to play in the future.

The second, and more worthless of the two is Yugi's deck.

"...here it is."

...hm? It looks like they're relaxing. That won't do. I need to keep them on their toes. I need to make sure to them that I have control of this situation, no matter what it is. So what does someone do to demand that attention?

The shriek that erupted from Professor's Crowlers frothing mouth almost broke my placid facade. Everyone's reaction was something to behold. It was worthy to take a photo of and frame it on a countertop. Then joke about it with friends in the twenty-hundred dollar rent-a-month apartment in the border between Berkeley and Oakland - where you can walk ten minutes down Shattuck to the Berkeley Bowl. Buy the most expensive produce available. Walk back - you did your daily cardio. You come back to your old-ass apartment on Haste street, and you see your buddies there. Waiting and sitting next to the front gate. They give you a wistful smirk as you smile back. Your room is up to the first flight of stairs. Luckily, underneath you is the garage, so bringing in a one night stand is entirely not awkward. In any case, you bring them in, and your friends would ask: "Why the hell do these guys look like morons?"

You tell them:  
"I dangled Yugi's deck over a cliff."

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING!?" a collective scream from ten of the - oh, I want to say… about thirty-nine? There were a lot more people that came while I dueled, almost like we were dueling in the agora. But enough of that, you now know that I have Yugi's deck parlously hung over the ravenous tides below - waiting to devour it as it did with Exodia.

"Dimitri you little shit! I swear to god if you drop that I will"

"You will do nothing Joshua."

She stopped dead - and for a brief moment, I felt a feeling of half-pity, and half-awe as I watch her expression morph right before me. Her face took a cadaverousness complexion; her eyes widened - large, and luminous; twinkling, like the starry night sky. Her now ghastly pallor of the skin, with her sudden luster in the eyes, told me everything. That one sentence had shaken her world. I virtually exposed this woman's secret. For five years she stayed in this world as a woman. The notebook never mentioned her coming to terms with her renewal. Once an eighteen-year-old teenager -heading to his university of choice. Now - in a technical-and-biological sense - a five-year-old woman. Whose body - if I were to infer from the first few pages - was on the cusp of womanhood. That sounds like a lovely time.

For a brief moment, I felt sorry that I had to silence her like this. Then the thought of me of worshiping her expletive personality killed that empathy like a sniper shooting center mass with an M200 Intervention. That will forever and honestly be mind-boggling - more so than the verbal abuse she threw at us nearly every day of our lives. Making us better at dueling? By calling us, shitheads? Because she cares? It sounds more like you're projecting your insecurities for having your life being taken away so absurdly. So what? That gives you the justification to say whatever, and be whatever you want to be? You think your actions don't have consequences? Look at what I have done. I killed someone. All because

No.  
Not yet.  
It's not time to reveal that yet.  
Kudos, Mr. and Mrs. Sherlock, you have solved this mystery.  
To the unfortunate ones, don't you worry about that.  
Everything will fall into place.  
Soon.

"Now," I cordially announced - bringing the deck back away from the edge, "that I have your attention," pointed glares from the masses, "here's what's going to happen. You get three chances to beat me."

"Three?" the pedantic half of the couple inquired.

"Three," I affirmed. "However, I'm not entirely merciless." A scoff from one of the star pupils made me pause. For a moment. "Best of fives. But for safe measures, best me three times, and I will voluntarily surrender and return the deck to your care."

"And if we don't?"

I gave a glance over to the crowd of duelists that were slowly assembling. It looks like there is going to be a second demonstration.

"To those that have just arrived, I welcome you." I lifted the strap that held the box with Yugi's deck. "This is what you're all here for; to speed you all into what is happening - I am giving them you all an opportunity to beat me. Beat me, you get this deck back. You lose…"

A collective gasp the moment the strip slipped an inch from my grasp. The box jolted, swinging dangerously above the cliff's edge.

"Do we all have an understanding?"

A much slower, non-harmonizing, but still a collective nod.

"Good. Now - other than the standard duel rules - if you want to go twice, be my guest. It won't change the outcome."

"Geez, arrogant much?" the obnoxious half of the couple sneered as I put the deck back into my bag. "You haven't been coming to our classes - and you still think you're going to beat us?" Nastily dusted the leaves off the pristine blue blazer and stepped forward. "I'll be straight with you, I never liked you, Dimitri. God, you're such a weirdo in every evil sense of the way."

Oh?

"Copying other duelist's ideas and strategies? That's a low even Weevil wouldn't go. Cause even a pest like him knows that to succeed, you need your original ideas and strategies. Something that people would never expect." It harrumphed, "And you think, your cookie cutting copy-cating cancer is going to be a challenge? Get over yourself, you attention whore - if this about what happened with

Okay. The joke ends. Now.

"Finish that sentence." I contemptuously forewarn - a bestial snarl escaping from the dark depths - in the recesses of places reserved only for those I deem for the wicked and a threat to my life. "I'll not only throw Yugi's deck - but I'll come over there, rip your tongue out and feed it to the monkeys living here in the jungle."

Dangerously close in making that a reality.

I felt shameless watching the repercussions. The abominable creature squealed loudly, a pitch only found in certain ringtones you fine on phones. Even stepping back and hiding behind it's signif- wait no, that's too generous to say; it's boresome half. It made me snigger that made my diaphragm tickle. I tried to be as polite in suppressing it, but there are just some things that are meant to be heard.

"You dare threaten my beloved?"

"Ladies and gentleman, someone with a fetish for cliche English."

I felt the glares. They tried to pierce through my rather tough exterior. Wonder if the blades are sharp enou- nope, looks like an overgrown baby about to erupt into a tantrum. Thought the fanfictions involving Vernon were terrible? This one had their fists clenched, but the wrists were bent to point (from my point of view) eastward with the left hand and westward with the right. The cheeks puffed, like a puffer fish trying to dissuade its prey from eating it. The only difference here is that I could care less what it does.

This, as I have stated, is for the simple pleasures of "fucking with them."

"I guess someone will have to teach you," snaps the fingers - three mechanical spider-arms emerged from a back-mounted pack. The mechanism quickly dismantled the metal pack - disguised as a technological-oddity of a backpack. Each piece is attached to the wrist at a rapid pace. The arms placed it's the last piece onto the wrist - completing the custom duel disk. " **your place**." The smugness with which it announced those last two words - while it marched to the center - amidst the duel disk creation - the showmanship indeed made the thing in front of me an ostentatious but a fantastic braggart.

Then again, I can completely understand this one's intentions. I, too, am a man of theatrics. Even when my life is in peril, and even when reality falls beneath my feet, the show must continuously shine onto the protagonist - a fate we all sorrowfully believe that we are "the one." I hate knowing that no matter what I will do, I will forever be an extra for the backdrop. My lack of interaction, amongst these inbred monstrosities, of God's mental fart, just shows how precious they are to my heart. I hold no humbleness to anyone in front of me. Oh I know I am hated by many on this campus. Whether it's due to my cynicism, narcissism, pessimism, or a combination of the three - I know that my attitude made me many enemies. It only grew worse after the suicide. My personality exacerbated, I fluctuated from characters to characters - to try and forget. But nothing I did could get me to forget that hanging arabesque project that I saw in his dorm.

One time I dressed up as him. Nobody laughed at that. I didn't even bother to justify it. I just did it. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway.

In contrast to this gaudy performance, I pushed the power switch - located not-so-conveniently under the right widget. (responsible for holding the cards that are removed from play) While that one's duel disk was sleek and perhaps new, my substandard duel disk in contrast slowly sputtered. Dying while it's activating. That's what it looked like. The LED flickered - outlining the four shoots; each signifying where the cards were supposed to go into:

Deck  
Hand  
Graveyard  
Removed From Field

There were two pads on the disk that sandwiched the monitor that gave me an overhead view of the digital board. Although I've asked the functionality and the purpose of the device, the scientists were hush-lips on the content. It wouldn't be much later in this tale that I discover the meaning. But once again, that tale is for another time.

I pulled one of the smaller devices that were attached to one of the ends of the duel disk. Gingerly, I put the little gadget to the left greater wing of my sphenoid bone. Those monkey scientists warned me that this was still in beta testing - sparks and all the warning hazards they rattled off in my head as I allowed the device to sit on my head comfortably.

What I did not expect was it to suddenly - and sporadically, shoot hooks directly into my skull. That made me curse. Oh, you wish to know which one? Well - as I said, I can't seem to remember much about that night. Oh but I have not forgotten the pain. The pain in which those gelid steel hooks pierced through my skull, and shot hot electric fire throughout my body. Jolts that made my head twist and twitch sporadically. The jerks were agonizing. Any movement that I would make - even a flick of a finger - would shock my muscles to overreact. It made me fall unceremoniously onto the ground.

 **[Neural Link Establishing...]**

Quite embarrassing, now I think about what happened during those few minutes in adjusting to this new sensation. I was rolling - left to right, not even rolling my body over a full three-hundred-sixty degree. Just rocking myself as a sound - not the voice from the Imp of the Perverse. A voice so robotical, so professional; a tone that suggests merely its purpose. The purpose.

 **[...Crystal Cloud Network Online…]**

"Oh honey," I venomously drawled out. A sound - not of my own. A cyberpunk excrescence to the auditory experience. A crossbreed between man and technology. A joining that defied all logic and meaning. A blight to the natural law of creation.

I relished it.

 **[...Dual Link Established: Accept Challengers Duel Request?]**

The blood spilling from the side of my head, half my vision clear and still able to capture their horrified expression in seeing such mutilation. My eyes never blinked - my gaze locked onto every single one of them. Tonight is my night.

My final hurrah.

What I see with my left eye - it was at that moment I finally realize just how far I had committed to this plan. I could see the outer area of my eyes - three digital sapphire colored lens - sizes that aren't lined linearly - locked onto my opponent.

Finally finding the bearings to stand fully, I gave my answer.

Yes. I accept.

 **[Confirmed; Match Starting in 3...]**

Data practically outpoured from his duel disk. Windowed small, but in a neat organization; the information that laid before I; it genuinely unleashed the Machiavellian in me.

 **[...2…]**

To summarize what I saw - the tabs revealed me _everything_. Wins. Losses. Histories of the style of deck it ran throughout it's life. Signature cards. Everything to learn about the little duelist in front of me. The poor schmuck in front of me has no idea what was going to come. The contemplation of the pain I would inflict upon this poor unfortunate soul...

"You don't even know ... your place."

 **[...1. Duel Commence.]**

 **Dimitri: 8000  
** **Enemy 1: 8000**

* * *

 _ **Dimitri Kagurazaka presents,**_

 _ **A five year project finally coming to fruition.  
**_ _ **A tale -told countless of times - retold.  
**_ _ **From a man whose minds are filled with terrible, terrible nightmares  
**_ _ **Stories That Have Nothing But Tragedies  
**_

 _Traegodia_


	2. In Media Res II - Passion

Summary

The cruelest irony, when I look upon you: you are willing to take responsibility for all of us - to be our savior. I've seen you once as an executioner; you've hung your dreams - left it to asphyxiate. Have courage; be a fool. How did I, find I? Nietzsche grumbles to me. "Nothing is _more_ your own than your dreams. Nothing _more_ your own work."

* * *

 _I will bring fire to thee_

 _-_ _Euripides_

* * *

After publishing my first chapter, I wasted little time in starting the next. However, as I write these very lines down on this paper, I felt a weight in my soul. It wasn't necessarily a heavy burden. Preferably, the feeling was intensely familiar to feeling unsatisfied. An urge - I think - my fellow brothers and sisters of the literary arts have a commonality in; to look back and see if we had forgotten a crucial aspect of the story. Something that would make readers have a clear understanding of where I take my tale. So - in spite of my hubris - I looked back at the story of my debut. Now as you and I read through the trivial romantic invocation of the soul - we notice rather blatantly of my mental condition, my unadulterated hate for nearly everyone on the island, a suicide affecting everyone on the island, and Julia Chung being Joshua Chung.

What I did not disclose was the primary dramatic question.

What am I to accomplish by the end of this night? What is that one yearning question that everyone wants to be answered by the end of this story? What obstacles must I overcome - and how will I overcome it? Will I be Ajax; to be driven mad by you gods, for your own indulgences? Will I be Thersities; a fool to think that I am not a pawn, but a master of my own fate? Or will this be another _Troilus and Cressida_? A story with no climax. To end bitterly in a strange manner for just the sake to forsake? Will it be a hollow feeling - like the quest for the honor of the Trojan War? Just as it was told by my god of tragedies, Shakespeare?

This is a terrible error on my part - and one I will rectify immediately. The answer to the actions that you saw in the last chapter is because

...No.

I apologize, I do not do this to demean in any sense. However, I must stop myself from writing this answer down. I mustn't pander to you. No. I love you too much to do so. You don't deserve that disrespect. You are intelligent men and women. Capable of asking complex questions behind this maddening work. Wonder to yourself - is this legitimate? Is my story reasonable enough to be taken seriously? Is it too unhinged to be considered so? Will I be forgotten like the others in this vast universe? Though these questions will haunt me till my hair grays, there is one promise I can make to you all.

Even if this question is never answered, I solemnly swear this oath to you all: I will never intentionally degrade you, my audience, to that level of babying. That is a disrespect even god cannot undo. Anyone that reads my tale is perceptive enough to figure out what is happening. I am not the most talented writer. Far from it. Reverence is only shown to those that see it deem fit. Even someone like I, who see myself as a virtuoso of misery, will be forgotten - not even worthy to be on bookshelves. Too much, they'll say. Too much.

I cannot fault them for that decision. I find my writing utterly deplorable. For my most evident strength in literacy - even for that very brief moment - is to capture a moment, a scene of my insanity. Even then, with how brutal the headset would install itself on my left side of my brain, I can only do so much. My stories aren't that much of a mystery. However, what I can do is emphasize my worse character trait as a focal point for my mental disorder. On the composition and application of an obsession. How awful must a passion not only bring my reader's attention to my tale but also be interested in it?

When I use the word "awful," I do not mean the unpleasantness that irks differently among us. Rather, I invoke an aspect of that particular word to where it once entices our souls to feel humble of our nature. An idée fixe. It sounds terribly dramatic. Something would thoughtlessly say that only an "emo" would feel that kind of emotion. To the people that say that non-sensible assumption, allow me to retort. An obsession is the most sincere form of evidence to human life.

How, you might ask? At its worst, obsession can metaphorically be seen as an iron mask. Permitting us to gaze in only one direction at one thing. We are prisoners in the cave. However in the cave - we are fettered, and the shadows created by the flames behind us are our reality. A world where not even the sun would dent it's rays with. These prisoners, left alone, will inevitably die - never leaving their gaze from the shadows that dance in front of them.

We may become obsessed with a person, a place, a goal, a subject—but obsession amounts to the same thing in all cases: addiction. With first hand experience, like all addictions, obsession is intoxicating. It's fills us up, and we don't shy away from this feeling. It's a feeling that gives us ground. Gives us a meaning. It gives us a goal and a purpose. For you see, obsession could be the thesis to the converse of ennui - an appetency to live; the groom's hand that parts the fairy-tale veil from the eyes. What a relief that feeling is.

But like all addictions, time as the arbiter of our health, obsession destabilizes us. We begin to neglect our moral spirit. A ravenous malady. Obsession can and will devalue important dimensions that used to clearly define our lives. What manner of gypsy curse is it that forces us to tolerate their atrophy and even their collapse. Then comes the razor edge between beauty and tragedy: if the object of our obsession is taken from us, as I discover later tonight, we slowly find ourselves devastated. Convinced, we've lost our last chance at happiness.

This, my dear audience is how simple one man can descend into madness. How an obsession can overtake the senses and destroy all

"Hey, not that I care or anything..."

Hm?

"...but, you sure you don't need to check in with a doctor or something?"

Oh yes, I was in a middle of a duel.

I noticed that the moron's eyes were particularly fixated on the gadget that is responsible for creating a model representation of the red sea. Or maybe it was just a small puddle. I really should get myself bandaged up before the next duel. Wait. Have I gotten aid after this duel? I can't quite seem to recall. Yes, that is definitely a tell-tale for a medical emergency. I definitely should check up with the doctor. That would be an entirely prudent thing to do. It wouldn't affect the story too much. Invokes gratuitous amount of pity into the audience which brings them to empathize my condition.

Pity?  
Empathy?  
No.  
I need none of that.

Therefore I continued on with my preparation. The blood stain, desperately hoping that the card would still be legible for the device to scan, I meticulously sliding my five cards into the slot labeled "Hand." With absolute fascination, I watched as five small cards materialized in front of my eyes. The phantasm cards - floating in the air instill stability. Each of them vividly detailing my cards. My cards. Now, that has a rather nice ring to it, doesn't it? Certainly better than saying "Crowler's cards," or "Zane's card," or god forbid "Yugi's cards."

"What's the matter? Scared of a bit of blood?"

"I'm terrified that you gave yourself brain trauma, but don't mind me. Oh no, I'll be here, watching you discard your whole hand to the grave."

Ah, so it can't see the cards. How interesting. Does that mean he can't see the tabs that are literally opened right in front of me.

"Well, _les femmes d'abord_."

"I'm a dude, you idiot." it - oh enough of this charade. _He_ spat. "...but since you insist." I couldn't tell from afar - I guess that's one of the adverse effects of getting lobotomized by this device - but his simpering expression is enough to tell me that his top deck game was on point. "Normally I'd go second, but with this hand - I doubt you have much to stop me." How bold. I wonder what he has up in his sleeves. "First, I activate the spell card Fooli

Suddenly, to the left of my peripheral vision, blueness exploded. The azure-tinted triad lens immediately honed onto the card - the artwork depicting the humorously dark self-burial zoomed uncharacteristically large. The device, lodged firmly into my skull, fired various information into my retina. Window tabs are popping open on the left side of my vision. Even as I sit here and attempt to find words to describe it - it's just something one has to struggle to fully understand the eeriness in how comfortable a person can be summarized.

I mean this with the absence of arrogance. What made it so is how each duel is an eidetic memory for me to revisit. The otherworldly sensation in which half of my world is to the fantastical and the mysterious of what my opponent will do - while living the other half of the world in dazzling cobalt; filled with treasure troves of secrets - Each duel will forever be an eidetic memory. Future contests filled with nothing but lurid beryl text and windows. A blight to some, a library for mine.

 **[Spell Recognition: Confirmed]**

 **[Foolish Burial]  
[Type: Normal]  
[Effect: Send one monster from your deck to the graveyard.]**

I can see why Kaiba discontinued this program. The sheer advantage this device gives me works both in and out of the duel. In combat, the calm voice that guides half of my decisions in my fights is an excellent tool of consultation. Outside of it, the spartan design in which the AI systematically breaks down each step of the turn - pointing out the obvious mistakes - and set up different possibilities of counter-attack.

It could have ended merely its purpose with just explaining the card's effect - but it went beyond that.

For you see, it doesn't just tell me what cards, what deck, what playstyle the duelist will present in front of me.

 **[Analyzing Duelist's History...]**

It can predict their _moves_.

 **[...Confirmed.]**

It is the Trojan horse. The enemy - they have been stacking wins like sandbags banking the tide to not overwhelm them - they do not know that when I have this - I am their tsunami. I will drown their pride - asphyxiate them - make them aghast. Teach them - the moment they are foolish to prod the sleeping giant - how _wrong_ they are to come here - and have the impudence to think they'll _win._ The most dangerous weapon - and I am the beta tester. I lost count how much my head twitched at this point, but when the device pulled up the monsters he is notoriously known to put into his graveyard - I immediately knew, this went beyond the idea of honor and maintaining integrity among duelist. This tiny piece of tech isn't just the recipe for Pandora's box - it is Pandora's box. And I can see it in my eyes - as it told me that out of 1 of every 10 duels of a 56% chance that he'll drop Red-Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon to the grave - the carnival of violence.

What kind of world is this? For what hope can the sun's ray pierce the thick and hot miasma of this slaughterhouse of a world - when it fail to shine into the cave of our obsessed prisoners? They howl - what are they dragging through the streets? Cross spears- but what is that I see on the pike? They hop and sing, a satyr's debauchery. A Dionysian orgy - racked with laughters and screams. Children? Children, screaming. Fighting over heaps - with their blood caked fingertips. Blue-eyes, once a signifier - a possible way to live the post-war world, now tinder for the fire.

I am the harbinger of unspeakable misfortunes.

He wasn't even done closing the card's effect.

"-Darkness Metal Dragon to the grave!"

To think, this little thing drilled to the side of my skull can influence so much of the game. He finally finishes explaining his card - and I'm standing here, with another blue tab informing me of a possibility (43%) that he can banish Chaos Emperor Dragon - Envoy of the End and later showed a higher percentage of him using one of his many Dragon Rulers's effect to banish Eclipse Wyvern; to use it's secondary effect to bring Chaos Emperor Dragon back to his hand. One man's present, another man's future. Now it's happening and you can't stop it happening. We, I, used to suffer everything. Now, we take our revenge. You are watching this revenge, and you don't remember that it was you who drove me to this. Now you say don't. It's too tale - to cry over spilt blood.

"Now, I activate Lightning, Dragon Ruler of Drafts in my-"

 **Tab 1.  
[Monster Recognition: Confirmed]  
Lightning, Dragon Ruler of Drafts - Level 2 - Type: Dragon - Attribute: Wind - Power: 500/1800  
Monster's Effect: You can discard Lightning AND one dragon-type OR wind-attribute monster; special summon one "Tempest, Dragon Ruler of Storms" However it cannot attack this turn]**

 **Tab 2.  
[80%: Opponent has another dragon to utilize Lightning's Effect  
100%: Will Summon Tempest, Dragon Ruler of Storms]**

 **Tab 3.  
[By estimation and approximation of the user's duel history:  
85%: Opponent will discard Eclipse Wyvern as his second monster; if Eclipse Wyvern is sent to the graveyard, banishes one level 7 or higher light or dark Dragon-Type monster from the deck.  
Possible choices;  
1\. (45%) Red Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon  
2\. (15%) Darkflare Dragon  
3\. (12%) Light and Darkness Dragon]**

 **Tab 4.  
** **[62%: Opponent will discard Red-Eyes Wyvern as his second monster; if Red-Eyes Wyvern is sent to the grave, and if the opponent did not normal summon or set a monster this turn: they can banish this monster from the Graveyard. With the exception of "Red-Eyes B. Chick," they are able to special summon one "Red-Eyes" monster from the Graveyard.  
**

 **Tab 5.  
Possible choices;  
** **1\. (93%) user will summon Red-Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon  
** **2\. (22%) user will summon Red-Eyes Black Dragon]**

Five tabs.

That's all it took to surmise his Dragon Ruler deck. Get Red-Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon to start summoning dragons to swarm the board. I discovered his plan of attack with five tabs. This moment should be the most empowering moment for me. Never have I held the world at my fingertips. Godhood stood before me. Kneel before me, Babylon; the king has arrived! Yet for an inexplicable reason, I am struck with melancholia. The anchorage - which should've lifted itself from my heart and sail away - remains embedded in the dark depths of my emotional base. It isn't guilt. I am too shameless to feel any sort of remorse for anyone at this point. No, I am the only one who can see all this information, or that is what I choose to believe. In reality - I don't know if they can look at the tabs cycling over my left eye.

Now, where was I? Oh right - on the topic of the cosmic gods that read my sad tale.

What is the blood of these parasites compare to the unnecessary humiliation you've all subjected me too? It was one thing to imitate Jaden of all people when I lost, but to emulate any of you? You are entirely beneath me. Compared to the blood I have shed for your amusement, compared to the throats slit by your supposed divinity? More of me died when I see these egotistical pawns that think they're above to me. So what is this sacrifice? Compared to the people made to keep your content? What are a few broken hearts compared with the opportunities you've looted from me?

You don't care. The foreign armies. These OC - referenced in the notebook - with whom you vicariously live through. To test your unprincipled philosophy without being challenged. Secret deals - a compromise to add other worms into my world; in exchange to enrich yours. Marching in and massacre the people that lived here, years before your pervasive existence. You hope there will be enough people here for us to become irrelevant enough for you all. All this, just to become the hero of the world. To flourish. Not even a twitch to sympathize my worthless existence as you degrade me, humiliate me, downplaying my existential crisis as a butt of the joke. By the end, the end of your story, I am Gloucester - eyes plucked from his sockets.

But where is my king to ponder on the aspect of holiness and one's sanity?

You may say that my tone is too acerbic. The way I talk to you, it isn't making my case any better. It isn't making my mental fortitude any better either. I've become over-excited, and it will show in this particular chapter. After all, I have invited you here to demonstrate a retelling of my absurd life. I would like to give you a counterargument to this. I show you my emotions entirely on these papers because this indisputably is how I feel when you play with my life. Now calmly read this recollection of this barbarous night - which is rarely seen nowadays with today's stories.

Unlike the Dimitris that will come after me, I will attempt to be more civilized than they.

"- Dragon Ruler of Storm!"

Or so I wished.

Vociferous winds tore the greens on the ground. Mercilessly, they swirled helplessly in the furious squall. The winds, Zephyr and his winds, their cheeks have swollen. The winds rage - defying Zeus and his all mighty authority of heaven! Then I felt the winds behind me. It was foolish. It was a hologram. These are just visual illusions to befuddle the mind. I know, whatever thought-executing sensitivity that I am experiencing, whatever mystic element that is worsening this hallucination, is just that - a hallucination. I know this dragon does not exist. I know that when I look at the physical embodiment of cataclysm - the neural synapse in my brain is presenting me with that representation. I see the will of the card and the representation of it because I have already seen it via the card's artwork. The deep-learning algorithm in which the duel disk quickly calculate in projecting the scale of the monster is evidence to this. It is telling me it is large. Turquoise. Windy.

But it was so much more than that.

Uproariously, my dirty-pickle-colored scarf forcefully rips away, upon the instant, to which I attempted to grab it, my eyes finally took in the ponderous but a Goliath of a tornado touching the sea. Terror chilled my heart as nature's serpentine tore-half the wrathful elements - raise the curtains, it screech - and bow before it's majesty. I barely noted the tabs - informing me of the potential weaknesses of the monstrosity that flew before me. The aestheticism of its destructive force made me lucid of my mortality. For I see it. Those wings. Wings I have seen more than once when I look at this hanker sore duel with anyone. He would always bring it out once. Seeing those wings from afar - tattered mint drapes as I pictured before the mansion became ravage ruins; days before the fall of the house of Usher. It rumbled; spout, rains. No rain, wind, or thunder are familial. Elements that are unkind - that once held kingdoms of ages since passed. Here I stand, a slave to your sublime! Reveal your grandiose form to me!

It did not disappoint.

Cataracts and hurricanes spout upward. Two cyclones conjoined - to funnel one massive tornado. Hermes - fly swift! Away from the oak-cleaving thunderbolts and whirlwinds! For, Tempest - the finale of all plays - have descended.

 **[Tempest, Dragon Ruler of Storm  
Level 7;  
Type - Dragon;  
Attribute - Wind;  
2400/2200  
Effect:  
If Tempest is in the opponent's hand or grave - they can banish either two dragon or two wind-attribute monster: special summon this monster.  
At the end of your phase, if the opponent still has Tempest out on the field - it returns to the hand.  
The opponent may also be able to discard this card and one other wind-attribute monster; they may search out one dragon-type monster from their deck and add it to their hand.  
When this card is banished, you may add one wind-attribute, dragon-type monster from you deck to your hand.]**

"If your done gawking," He teased. "I'd like to end my turn."

What is he, five-years-old? Well, if he's going to act like one, I'll treat him like one. By that, I mean continue to ignore him as I focus my attention on the more pressing matter. More specifically - on broaching the subject of obsession once more.

As you've seen throughout this chapter, my passion at this moment is for you godlings to feel sonder. What is sonder, you ask? It's a"Eureka!" moment, but not a welcoming one. A realization, that each random passerby is living a life. Lives that are vivid and complex as your own—with their own aspirations, ambitions, routines, worries and inherited craziness. We are Odysseus in our own epic that continues invisibly around you. In which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk. I want you to know the smallness of our perspective. Understand that you and I cannot draw any meaningful conclusions at all. About my life, my past or the complexities of culture in which I inhabit; although your life, and now mine, is an epic and unrepeatable anecdote, it still only has a sample size of one.

He finishes his turn with Tempest and Red-Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon on the fie- wait. How did that second dragon...?

My eyes quickly went to the duel log:

 **[Main Phase 1:  
** **1\. Foolish Burial - Sent Red-Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon  
2a. Discarded Lightning, Dragon Ruler of Drafts and Red-Eye Wyvern  
** **2b. Lightning's effect activation requirement satisfied - Special summons Tempest, Dragon Ruler of Storm from the deck**

 **Battle Phase:**  
 **[N/A] on first turn**

 **Main Phase 2:**  
 **Sets one card facedown**

 **End Turn:**  
 **1a. Red-Eyes Wyvern secondary effect activation requirement satisfied - No normal summon or set monsters this turn**  
 **1b. Banishes itself - Special summon one "Red-Eye" monster from the graveyard  
** **1c. Opponent's choice: "Red-Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon"]**

Oh, it was because of Wyvern.

But - wait. What is that I spy with my eyes? Raindrop of star-dew trickle from the back of the duelist? Are they outcast of all outcasts - the most rejected? Their heaven, their sanctuary, their home, their world. Now barred. Where would these stars float to? -to the dark maws of the horrendous abyss? Where the gravitational force is so intense, not even the star of Mjölnir can beacon Thor to victory. What is he, against the cosmic indifference; a asinine concept, a god. To the earth where I stand - where every iteration of I - stand here feeling a sense of the Vemödalen; have this monster appear? Am I the first to see this alien sight?

By the time I ask myself the last question, the device had already identified what these shining bio-luminescent creatures were:

 **[Monster Recognition: Confirmed]  
[Maxx "C"'  
Level - 2  
Type - Insect  
Attribute - Earth  
500/200  
Effect:  
During either player's turn, the opponent can send this card to the Graveyard from their hand.  
This turn: each time your opponent would Special Summon a monster onto the field, immediately draw 1 card.]**

From the corner of my eyes, I saw him smirking at me - expecting me to curb into my curiosity and demand him what the effect was. Literally a man-child; a child-like perversity in taking pleasure of knowing something that the other person does not. I wonder what he would think of my little contraption.

I think the wound is starting to scab? I'm not entirely sure - I really do need to check up on that. I could still be bleeding rather profusely. Another electrical fire - my left arm twitches this time. Suddenly a morbid thought begins to cloud my mind. The thought-cloud - it becomes palpable and takes shape. A form far more terrible than any demon or monster - and yet, in the end, it's just a thought. A scary one. The depravity in which our minds can create images that chills in marrows of our bone. What made me feel this amount of tension was but an easy question to identify. Could it be possible that - although the device is securely hooked into me - is it not applying enough pressure to stop the bleed? Am I, I? Is there any of me left? I'm pretty sure these hooks have pierced my grey matter - what I am feeling - is this sweat and precipitation of the sea?

I watched his expression change to a frown - I couldn't care less about what he wanted me to do. I already have a dilemma on my hand. Oh, but I must get in character. "Sorry to disappoint, you'll probably draw only one of those cards." My finger gently poked at the card - The hologram rippled as the card de-materialized from my vision.

 **[The Gateway to Chaos has been opened]**

A lurid illumination blinded my audience. They hissed and vociferate at the brightness. I basked in it. I allow myself, the spiritual nature that has been nurtured in me since my childhood, to imagine the gods finally bestowing their blessings onto me. Chaos will reign. Order will fall. I will win. I will conquer. I will succeed.

"W-What is this light!?" my opponent demanded - and once more I found myself completely apathetic to his state of confusion. Here my dear friends, this is where I must note you a change in my disposition. The moment these pandemonium lights fell onto my form, a cool dispassionate focus stilled any feelings I had. The pain - now a minor throb that is quickly numbing itself. The AI's voice soothe through my head - bringing four different cards in front of my screen.

 **[Add one monster to your hand]**

I picked the normal looking one. Once I did, the card jumped into the five cards above. Once more, my hand is back to six cards. The lights finally ceased it's radiance. The nettlesome fool glared daggers at me. "Aren't you going to tell me what that card did?"

 **[Main Phase 1]**

"What you've just witness was the basis of all life." The lights were no more, but Dimitri - _I_ \- I can see it. Not the light, but the terror behind that light. When the lights are gone, like it is now, "Death. The Gateway to Chaos. Allows me to weave and construct the metaphor of my suffering, but also note the cruelty of this life." I could feel their disbelief, the internal conflict in taking my diction seriously or not. It wasn't my fault if they could or couldn't judge what is behind the mask. Or if I am even wearing one. But you and I both know - you and I both know \- that there is nothing behind anything I do. They are so used to seeing me wear masks. They couldn't accept that my greatest mask - is myself.

"I summon, Manju of the Ten Thousand Hands - in the middle zone."

 **[Summoning Channel Accessed: Conjuring...]**

The card shot itself forward to the very center of my monster zone. I saw the crowd's eyes widen as the card enlarged as tall as Professor Crowler - wait, no. That's not entirely true. I was the only one that saw that card grow. For them, it must've been just a behemoth card suddenly materialized into thin air. What they saw, I could not know. But what I saw, what I saw - it violated any conceivable way that I could see a monster being summoned. With Tempest, I noted the sublime of which nature had wrought onto my feeble mind.

Manju - a scene of apprehension - a conjuring so disturbing; his screams, it haunts me for weeks when I hear it. It begins with a hand - no, correction: _hands_ \- that grabbed the edge of the card. With terror filled awe - I witness these multiplicative hands pulling their monstrous god from his slumber. What could only be described as a Cthulian deity, pulled half of his body out from the card. He roared. A murderous roar. A hateful roar. His eyes - five red-eyes - bore directly at the duelist in front of me. I could count about fifty of his green appendages before I lost count at the sheer amount of arms simply waving about - like a squid, swifting through the sea.

 **[Summoning Channel: Complete]  
[Manju of the Ten Thousand Hands  
Level - 4  
Type - Fairy  
Attribute -Light  
1400/1000  
Effect:  
When this card is Normal/Flip Summoned - You can add 1 Ritual Monster/Spell from your deck to your hand.]**

Five cards left.

I have the monster (four of them). I have the sacrifices (two of the four). Now I need the catalyst. Like a good neighbor, my AI is there. A digital codex - a list of all the ritual materials in my deck. My finger moved towards the little one that cradled himself to sleep. Or perhaps it's to cradle himself in protecting himself from the cruelty that is life. What is he sheltering himself from? Is it an interpretation of his fall from grace? This fall - a rushing annihilation - the very reason in which we have the macabre; images of death and suffering, which I know I will confidently present, will be the most desirable and subliminal of our primal nature.

My memories are quite ignited with this scene.

This I remember very well. My finger slowly closes its destination. I stopped. My eyes caught another spell. A much more worthless card. It was a card I had thought I'd taken out. It was an absolute detriment to my deck. Did I put this card here, or was it there the whole time? Was it because of nostalgia? I shouldn't even consider touching such a card. There are better cards to pull than this one. My acquisition of this card made me pause - but then it returns. A voice. No. The voice. The voice that plagues me with nightmarish self-deprecation. The voice german to a nasal child. No. It was no child. That whisper, it could only belong to one fellow. The demon hushing demented, vile-promises; honey-dipped, pervasive, a seducing offer. The susurration in aggravating my perverse malady - "an opportunity to top the King of Games in showmanship." it breathes "A death, by the visitation to a non-believer."

"It will be the grandest homage to the Duelist Kingdom."

"For too long," the card emerged from my deck, "I've watched as men have given themselves false importance to the dichotomy of life and death," the card was slid into the vacuum labeled "Hand." "Today I've finally come to terms that when I die, I will become Nature's compost heap. The cruel absurdity in accepting this life is the tragedy of not being worth anything. Even as the manure to bolster and promote growth - the truth is, nothing will ever be in my control. Nothing could grow. Nothing could be made." The spell card joined its spectral brethren in the skies above. However, it wasn't long before my finger found itself on that very same spell.

I double tapped it - indicating my wish to activate it.

"Is there a point to anything you've just said?"

 **[Confirmed - Preparing for Ritual Summon]**

"I've come to discover that I am not an artiste in the traditional sense - I'm slowly discovering a lot of things about myself. One thing I've noticed - especially in stories like ours, there is no passion in our dialogue. It might as well be us just slapping one another till one falls. Initially I assume it was because I lacked compassion. Maybe it was because I was the one who saw him first - hanging there - listlessly. I assumed I was broken - the comforts that I found back in Ra; they no longer gave me the warmth I needed."

 **[Tribute monsters whose levels equal to or exceeds the Ritual Monster's level]**

"So I deliberated on the issue. Have I become sociopathic? Psychopathic? Surprisingly, no. I am not apathetic. However, I have become much more nihilistic in my philosophy. Compassion is the deception "kind" people use in looking for self-gratification. Compassion makes the pitier throb in contempt for the begger the miser is helping. His donation - his help - is nothing more equivocal than him kicking the beggar to the side. This is what I see when I see you mingle with us. You assume a mantle of compassion - to lead us to become duelists on the hill. In reality, you're only being civil to us because the situation deems it. Like your revolting lover mentioned, I never hung around you. Are you sure it's not the opposite? That you didn't bother to hang around me?"

 **[Choose the Ritual Monster]**

"It's an extreme in which it forces you to act against the vast indifference. You invent a meaning, you intervene, you say that - _this_ \- and this are wrong. What's wrong with trying to fix things? What is wrong when you know the story from the back of your mind? Are you going to change everything? Will you change my fate? I wonder how my tale will go in your story. Oh look, I lose to Syrus Truesdale in the morning. Oh look, I lose my mind and steal Yugi's deck. Oh look, I'm Yugi Moto and I lose to Jaden Yuki. Oh look, I'm Yugi Moto and I lose to so and so. Oh look, I'm Yugi Moto, and I lose to...Oh look. Oh look. Oh look. Who am I?"

 **[Preparation complete]**

Lo! Over on the yonder of the crag. A home, a seasoned soldier tenanted. Once the home of a hero. Now a tomb to commemorate a legend. The sepulcher - where his body rests - a crypt of an eon long forgotten. A time of dragons and knights. Where royalties played games for the throne. The poor struggle to simply survive. But this warrior. The soldier whom sleeps in the mausoleum - along with his brothers and sisters - his time has come. The preparation has been complete. Though dark and night, rays from the loneliest goddess came down on the marble tablet. The emblem which heralds the house he championed. Adorned on the faded picture of the shield. Two swords - rusted from the passage of time - sat ontop of one another - guarding the tomb of a forgotten past.

When I say silence, people immediately think of the "drop pin" metaphor. However my silence is much more prevalent than that cliche. The pin drop is muted as well. Nothing broke the tension of the sight they see in front of them. A silence I will not be able to relate until later in my rebirthing. I will tell this story to you, because I know I will never bring it up again. One morning - my friends left base camp to climb the soutwest wall of Everest. It was okay. Both reached the summit. Storm hits. They realize they won't make it down. The first got a hold of his pregnant wife - satellite phone - calls her and decides on the name of the kid (Emmett). He quietly passes away just below the summit. My other friend wasn't able to call anyone. No one knows what happened to him. Due to the dry, cool climate 8000 meters above sea level - the two have been freeze-dried. I stood there in silence, looking at their corpses - looking no different (more or less) from the last time I saw them. That was when I was twenty-two. The moment the sublime had shattered any hope of any recovery for my mental health. That's about how silent it was when I finally revealed my ritual spell. This is no an exaggeration. What I have done is absolute heresy.

How dare I, after stealing Yugi's deck, play one of his signature ritual spell -

the Black Luster Ritual.

The two stone cauldrons lit in crimson flames. Two silhouette - one as bright as the Adam Kadmon; the other dark as the pits of Tartarus. Both were young and youthful. To see them perish for the sake of my victory, a bittersweet feeling of regret. The souls of the young knight were quickly consumed by the ever growing inferno housed in the cauldron. The heat that I felt on my face - when the flames erupted upward - twin flaming twisters - splitting the Heavens, where the warrior spirit doth dwell. A eulogy for the two souls. A paean for the hero's return.

 _"Souls full of grandeur, gloom and glory.  
_ _Here, the resting place of our hero  
I beseech for his services once more!  
Ruling the hearts of mightiest men -  
leave Aidenn - corrupt none but I;  
with the blood of my enemies.  
_ _Enrich the soils of this earth  
With your magnificent carnage!  
Rise for the bastards and the miserable!"_

The call has been headed. The hellfire of a storm that appeared the moment I activated the spell hurtled downward to the marble tablet. The unremitting flames - encircling around me. The monolith - an emblem to the tall-tales of this hero - crumbles.

No.  
That is a disservice.  
Let me try again.

 **[Facedown Activated]**

 **[Analyzing Facedown Card.]**

The monolith - an emblem to the tall-tales of this hero - it's mighty body rushing asunder. Stones, thousands of years old, finally succumbed to the firestorm's wrath. While I gazed, a fierce breath of the whirlwind - the entire ritual set bust at once upon my sight. The flames extinguished - the gust becoming more powerful as time passes. The cauldrons, molded and created from the mountains cemented onto the earth, rips from it's foundations. Tumultuous screams - Tempest's roar? No. The sounds was more akin to the voices of a turbulent sea. The earth crumbled. Debris exhuming dust clouds - large enough to mask both me and my opponents from seeing eye to eyes.

 **[Spell Recognition: Confirmed]  
** **[Mystical Space Typhoon]  
** **[Type: Quick-Play]  
** **[Effect: Target one spell or trap on the field; destroy it.]**

There. An unfamiliar feeling. A feeling I am not accustomed to experiencing. But a very pleasant experience. It was a feeling that made the puppeteer pull on the strings laced to my shoulders - gently flicking the wrist up and down - a slow but a poor attempt to hide the fact that I was now chuckling to myself. My body, as I found out, is prone in expressive body language. When I try to contain my laughter, my body reacts - shoulders twitching to remain in place. My lips, tugged by a fish hook to be pulled upward. Back bent backwards, chest encompassing north to the heavens.

Then it happens.

Laughter. Wonderful. Fabulous. Precious. Pure mirth, nothing diabolical about it. It was much better than being in a state of disbelief at the stupidity of my opponent. Truly, this young man has outdone himself this time. For when my gods find you, I know by my heart, they too, will cry. But these tears are not for pitying you. They are of mockery. How many times have they seen this tragedy happen before in front of their eyes. Fool, you are blessed with eyes. Do you not see? Then hear! Hear the sounds of his weighted footsteps! My gods! Shake your heads! For it has happened again! Even in this tragic tale; this will be a dilemma that will never be fixed. How those footsteps clamor loudly in contrast to the hectic scene of dirt-clouds, dragons, firestorms and hurricanes. His footsteps were the pin needle that echoed the silence. The way that clanked on the now grass-forsaken ground - each step reinforced the calm tattoo of my now steady heartbeat. A metronome for the climatic end for this chapter.

I no longer felt the excitement of that uncontrollable terror, for the tragedy, my readers, is not on me.

For this tragedy, it is on the fool in front of me, who did not read the fine text.

As I relished this moment, there by my side - sans sword and shield - stood - a transcendent among the motals - the walking epic - the envoy of my un-daunting soul.

Black Luster Soldier


	3. In Media Res III - Nighthawk

Summary

If any human act evokes the aesthetic experience of the sublime, it is the certainly the act of murder. If murder can be experience aesthetically, the murderer can in turn be regarded as an artist, a performance artist who specializes in destruction.

* * *

 _There was never yet an uninteresting life. Such a thing is an impossibility. Inside of the dullest exterior there is a drama, a comedy, and a tragedy._

 _-_ M. Twain

* * *

Understand, my editors were slightly peeved that I've turned in a two-turn story. Not even a complete two-turn tale. My monster's name hung onto the edge of the paper, like some strange 80 knock-off film that just sporadically put the character's name at the end of the film. Was it the eighties that did that? I'm not entirely too convinced either that it was this generation that popularized this genre. Speaking of popularizing genre, answer me this. What made our world so enticing for you godlings to come and try to take over it? I call you godlings, yet I cannot for the life of me see any reason to believe you earn that title. What was it that brought you here? Was it the school? Was it because someone here provoked your ire and you are now lashing out? Whatever it may be, I can tell you confidently now that whatever you've wished in this world - it isn't what I wanted. The world you were attempting to mold - the spirit, the frenzy that once drove my soul to honor the duelist code - it is without passion.

"Passion - another different title for my second chapter. In hindsight, "Labyrinth" would have been more suitable. Rereading my words out-loud, it was evident - a disconnect between me and the one that dueled the five duelists that night. The more I try to emulate that style of writing, the more I find myself entrapped in simulations of my own battles. They become a recurring thought that only seems to strike me late at night - like right now. Here I sit, with a hot cup of tea next to me, with a typewriter in front of me as I make an attempt, the endeavor, to describe another secret sorrow.

It is obscure —for this sorrow has overtaken me when my passions have been spent in my last chapter. The uncanny misery grows; nagging guilt; dark clouds of the genie looming an indefinite future— vultures circling high over our heads during the day; the woodpecker that pecks at the back of my mind while I try to sleep; I generally have success in ignoring them for weeks. Eventually, it got to me, I can no longer ignore it - the nighthawk's presence hovering outside the window; waiting for me to finish my draft; passing the time by quietly building a nest.

Right now énouement is my haunting. The bittersweet accomplishment of finally "making it." Ultimately, the answers of how things turn out in the real world - knowledge worthy to be archived in the Royal Magical Library. I want to share this abundance of wisdom with anybody who hadn't started their metamorphosis of the soul. At this moment, a part of me had volunteered to stay behind. Watching over in a small forgotten snack bar somewhere in the midst of the winter wonderland - looking beyond the Han river. I diligently waited; cooking one cup ramen a day; passing the time watching the television. Reading. Sleeping. Like this night, I naively thought to myself - I am the champion of this universe, I have conquered my fate, and now I eagerly await what lies beyond. I failed to realize - I was the opposite:

I am Hachiko - I am waiting for you at the train station. On a planet where everybody is dead.

I wish I could come there, hug him, kiss him and whisper to him softly, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It pains me to tell you that I am the herald of the tortured-mourner. I ask you to understand when I tell you, it is better to be oblivious to the soul-crushing mediocrity of our own existence." I can already see how he would react - he'd vehemently deny such an answer.

This is the misery of those that suffer énouement - because ultimately we understand. That's what saddens us. We finally have the answers, and yet it isn't the ones we were expecting. To my humiliation and shame, I ultimately wanted to be like the people in the notebook. I tried to make it mean something - to fight for the honor of Duel Academia against our rival schools. To fight alongside with my fellow classmates against the perils of the Shadow Riders. To resist, rebel and revolt against the Society of Light. To survive the desolate world of the spirits. There are so much I wanted to do. I wanted that level of recognition.

Here I write, after going on an adventure of my own, I would want to tell him - ignorance is bliss. The life he solely rejects - the life of every individual Dimitri - this is his battle. I would not lose him the fight! He would rave at me for even considering such an idea. Then he'd comment on my character. Weak. You shame myself and the future in which I set out to pave. I'm sorry. I truly am. The honest truth is, I know better. I've lived multiple lives - all of which ended terribly. Just like tonight. But this chapter is not the time for it. Instead, this chapter is to do something entirely different.

A battle that redefines all struggle.

 **Opponent: 8000 LP**

 **Hand: 0 (+1 with Maxx C activating upon Black Luster Soldier's summoning (B.L.S.)**

 **[] [Red-Eyes Darkness Metal Dragon] [] [Tempest, Dragon Ruler of Storms] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [] [Manju of the Ten Thousand Hands] [B.L.S.] []**

 **[][][][][]**

 **Hand: 1**

 **Dimitri: 8000 LP**

One of the recommendations that my editors had asked me to do is to utilize my imagination and expound on the world - oh my apologies; I'm still trying to learn not to speak in metaphors. What they truly meant was to show you - the audience - a false theater. Don't bore your arduous fan of the same thing - they tell me. Reveal to your audience how I am the one not to sympathize. My last chapter did reference this issue. However, it would appear to my editors that I was passively yearning for it. This I can not allow. My current disposition will not allow this. To those that have stuck with me up to chapter three, I thank you all. Now, I ask you to be patient again as I experiment another field of prose I have some experience with.

Once more I must dawn on characters - let's see if I can emulate this world on paper. Don't worry, this first duel doesn't last much longer. After all - how can I lose to someone that still thinks that Mystical Space Typhoon negates the activation of the card?

(...)

Black Luster Soldier

Just murmuring the name sent shivers down Bastion's spine. Just as you begin to say it, the B in black forces your voice to dip into a sonorous tone. The supplemental L sets up the guttural snarl for the end of the world. The hyper-aggressiveness of the word - the intellectual found himself pondering - is juxtaposed by the oppressive reverence "luster" impose onto the imagination. We are fearful of this warrior, yet when we look upon his aesthetics, he cannot deny - beautiful. His armor - reflecting the riches in which he serves his kingdom - luminous particularly under the half-moon rays. Cerulean and regal in form; embroidered onto his mail, gold that enunciate his masculine form. Brilliant ruby in the center of his chest plate.

Yet - there! Bastion can see it, the weakness. Not weakness that can be exploited, but a gap in what Dimitri would rant as the sublime. Only a portion of his face is exposed to us to see. His face wore a leaden hue, and though he may stand tall - upon closer inspection - his face screams emaciation; cheek-bones being the columns that raised his helm. Candy red hair deluge and wisp behind the armor - matching the unerring-eerie glow from the top of his helm. The soldier, nevertheless, retained both his mental and physical strength; standing side by side by Dimitri - who looked much worse than the start of the duel.

Dimitri.

A sinking pit sucked the heart much of Bastion's core. How could he have not noticed the mental state of his friend? Hints of the impersonator's eccentric actions flashed. From him sporadically missing classes - to his poor decision in imitating Syrus. Jaden punched him hard for that one. Bollocks, there were so many hints. How did he not notice? He's one of them. Ra. Like other colors on this island, they are bonded by the unity of the yellow blazer. The promise that they made to Professor Satyr, it became their what happened when Dimitri found Syrus? After what happened with Brier and Beauregard? Bastion's eyes locked with (I sincerely apologize, I can't seem to remember his name) and solemnly nodded to one another. They failed, and the consequences laid before them. Dimitri, caked in blood and liquid grey matter, head turbulently jerking from whatever damage that thing was doing to his friend, stood there with the purloined deck in his bag - with Black Luster Soldier coolly gazing both dragons on the field.

No, that wasn't true.

His gaze was trained on everyone. Focused. Honed. Never blinking. Eyes hedgehog in other eyes. Those eyes. Glossy with violet brilliance - more vibrant than any amethyst gemstones Bastion could only dream of. As dazzling those eyes maybe, he could also feel a festering dread - rotting his confidence away. There is something inside him, and it is somewhat hard to explain. He could hear the gathering duelists murmur about the monster and Dimitri. But, he still remained the same. The same? Was he the same? He understands the student's murmur - asking - who is Dimitri being?

 **Black Luster Soldier  
** **Level 8  
** **Type: Ritual / Warrior  
** **Attribute: Earth  
** **3000 / 2500**

"That's cool and all." The Dragon Ruler duelist began, "You can kill one of my monsters, but that's the thing - you can only kill one; Your Manju can't even scrap with one of my dragons."

He has a point, Black Luster Soldier may be a formidable foe for both dragons on the field. The problem stems with how Black Luster Soldier can only fight one monster per turn. This along with how Manju is severely outclassed in comparison to both dragons - whose attack powers are either below or above 2500. Yes, Dimitri may have succeeded in summoning a powerful monster out - but even this legendary serviceman has their limits. Black Luster Soldier has no effects - nothing it can do other than to bulldoze monsters weak enough to challenge it.

Mostly, he is a deterrent.

Yet Dimitri stood there, no less confident than before. His fingertip, muddied in and dried with his own blood, pressed something in the air. He swiped right. Two cards emerged. Two knights - visually different - yet designed in similarity. Fraternal twins. Squires. One was a miniature - but a much healthier skin tone- Black Luster Soldier, yet his eyes held none of the experience that his predecessor possesses. The other, if it can be possible, is the shadow of the two warriors. White, pristine, armor presents a mysticism of unspeakable haunting - hinted by the gem design of heterochromia; ruby and sapphire. Pale just as the Black Luster Soldier - but eyes, fixated on the enemies, just like the mighty warrior.

"These two monsters" An electronic gurgle disgustingly twittered, "have an interesting ability." an apt dysphemism to describe this horrendous noise is that of a warbled digital banshee. How is Dimitri not even bothered with the noise? Does he even notice it? Does he even realize just what he looks like to them? Bastion eyes wandered around - awe. Sheer anxiety at the monstrosity that stood in front of them. A fictional science chimera - too revolting to stomach. Dimitri, how hard did the sight of Syrus patronized your mental prison?

"When Beginning Knight"

Dimitri slumped to the ground. Few chuckles, but not a whole lot of laughter. Not after they saw him put the thing on his skull. Those screams. Christ, those agonizing bellows - they're the brazen bells - tales of terrors terribly tells in their turbulence. Those screams, how he screamed and shook us affright. Bastion glanced at the audience. He genuinely wishes they could drop this whole charade. This entire act of a mass jury to judge his friend - who is in apparent pain. Enough of the agora! Can't you see his suffering? But no, they would not relent to their moral calling. For they too, are stricken with this terror that terribly tells in their turbulence.

Fortunately enough, this bated breath of silence became unshackled - Dimitri wrestled himself to get up. Half-way, he vomited. The smell of today's lunch (lobster bisque with great island sauce hamburger) whiffed along the salty smell of the ocean. He spat out the rest of his bile from his mouth; smearing away the saliva of his mouth with his sleeves. He coughed to clear his throat.

"When Beginning Knight," A clear voice - Bastion thankfully thought - rang out, "and Evening Twilight Knight are used as tribute fodders for a Black Luster Soldier monster, they grant my monster some interesting..." he deeply inhale from his nostril, held his breath, and exhaled in an exalted manner.

"... _benefits_."

That's not a good sign.

"You see, my Black Luster Soldier is now blessed with four effects."

Four.

"You don't need to worry about them right now, except for one ability - which I'll get to in a minute."

The cards expressively shined in white light, a real metamorphosis - the cartoonishly large rectangles began to shrink. They morphed. Distorted their form down to more recognizable shapes. Objects to which are synonymous with the Black Luster Soldier. Bastion - as an assignment for Professor Banner - began to parallel his research to monster's power level with the aesthetics of the card.

He discovered, from variously scholarly journals that also found their school of discipline in, that during the Ottoman Empire - there was lore. Lore of a warrior - clothed in alien blue robes - with a mighty scimitar that slain countless of beasts. No one knew his name, except for his eyes. Lustrously violet eyes, which shined compared to the blackness of his deed. This - Bastion confidently wrote in his thesis - is where his name and his power originated. The shield, Bastion regrettably admits to himself, is a mystery in itself. There is no evidence of such emblem on his guard in any of the Turkish houses.

"Oh but I'm not done -" He brought his duel disk - what the hell has he done to his duel disk? Bastion couldn't believe that such a fossilized tech could possibly still exist to this day. It clearly explains the eight green squares hovering above his head. He has also researched upon the different duel disks that were available at the time. What Dimitri had on his wrist was one of the earlier prototypes. Judging how there are four more slots - two of which ejected the two knights from it - on the duel disk, it's safe to assume that Dimitri has tinkered with the device. The copy - no - the Ra duelist took the cards and placed them in the slot mirroring the previous slot. "- by removing one light-attribute monster and one dark attribute monster-"

"Wait!" Someone from the crowd yelled, "You're removing them?"

Brier looked flabbergasted as everyone else. "What sort of summoning requires monsters to be removed?"

Think Bastion, think you limey bastard. Why would Dimitri do that? Remove from play a light-attribute from the game - no, not just light. A Dark-attribute as well. Dark. Light and dark. Yin and yang. Black Luster Soldier. Light and Darkness. Black Luster Soldier. Ritual summoned. Using two monsters. Conveniently - they are already light and darkness. A chaos deck. Dimitri is running a chaos deck. Chaos Sorcerer? No, he requires an actual tribute summon - and Dimitri has already used it to invoke Manju. Then what is it!? Chaos Emperor Dragon? No, that card has been missing for over a decade - the chances of him having that card are zero to...

"Dimitri" he could feel the eyes quickly turning in his direction, "How, how did you get your hands on one of the Envoys?"

Crowler fainted.

"It'd make sense." Zane responded, "A Black Luster Soldier deck? It's the first time I've seen one played so fluidly, it wouldn't be a surprise if he did have it."

"B-But this is Dimitri!" Someone yelled, "How can someone like him have a card l-"

"It's because I took it out of Yugi's deck." Now everyone eyes were back onto Dimitri - and a new monster on the field. Or rather, a replica of the Black Luster Soldier standing on his right - the fifth spot from the left.

 **Black Luster Soldier - Envoy of the Beginning  
** **Level - 8  
** **Type: Warrior  
** **Attribute: Light  
** **3000 / 2500**

"B...but..."

How else would I have one of these? Dimitri's expression told tales of the morally-absent action he shamelessly professed. However, that isn't important at the moment.

Battle Phase

"Now my Black Luster Soldiers, slay these dragons - as you did in the age of old."

The soldiers ignored Dimitri, or perhaps they heard and silently acknowledged the order; it did nothing at breaking the calmness in which they gazed at the monstrosities in front of them. The replica struck first, putting an astounding amount of force into his step. He darts to the obsidian armored dragon - the beast, with its mighty maw opened, unleashed a stream of orange and white nova. The flames - as dangerous as they were - merely singed the hair on the replica's ponytail. The soldier has angled his body at a much lower angle, to not only dodge the flames but also enable him to move much faster. Bastion watched as the soldier left with such ease in his step - for a moment - dare he say it - the soldier looked beautiful. With spectacular acrobatic feats, the one with the sky blue armor - in a magnificent show of violence - gored his sword right below the jaw of the monster. His sword was piercing through the top of the dragon's skull. The force in which the knight has projected himself to shoot to the dragon knocked the Red-Eyes off its feet.

It landed next to Bastion.

Bastion watched in horrible rapture at the arabesque - the grotesque - form that is the Red-Eyes. It's neck curved upward; wings broke at an irregular angle; The head - pinned to the ground by the knight's sword. He could smell the rotten sulfuric smell emitting from the dragon mouth. Blood - much darker in color, akin to merlot - pooled around the body. It pitifully whimpered. The dragon - obliviously to its own shameful display - tried to scratch the knight off its impressive build. As much as Bastion wanted to come and comfort it, he was terrified at the soldier's presence. On top of that, a particular, monomaniac characteristic of the monster stood that made the intellectual nearly faint from fright. The manner in which the soldier's magenta eyes unrelentingly and coldly kept in place. The most solipsistic scene - what better way to make sure of one's existence through the extermination of others? I exist because I kill. Seems fundamental enough. Only when the dragon ceased it movements, only when it's breath stilled, just after the knight shockingly and violently twists the blade does he pull the weapon as mentioned earlier out of the dragon's skull.

 **Opponent: 8000 - (3000 - 2800) = 7800**

 **Hand: 1 (+1 with Maxx C activating upon Black Luster Soldier - Envoy of the Beginning (Envoy))**

 **[] [] [] [Tempest, Dragon Ruler of Storms] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [] [Manju of the Ten Thousand Hands] [B.L.S.] [Envoy]**

 **[][][][][]**

 **Hand: 0**

 **Dimitri: 8000 LP**

Now it was the original's turn. The Black Luster Soldier had finally walked over to his arms. Picking up Evening Twilight Knight's shield with his left hand, and Beginning Knight's scimitar with his right - the original Black Luster Soldier, was now armed and certifiably dangerous. Watching that gruesome show had clearly shaken the Dragon Duelist to reflect a ghastly trauma. What had gotten Bastion's blood to be frigid with trepidation was how in the comparison between two Black Luster Soldiers - the uncanniness became evident the moment his blade began to glow a harsh red. His cool lilac eyes - never leaving Tempest's form - as he slowly raises his blade. Nature's avatar roared - the winds picking, disrupting the peaceful climate. Rain and thunderstorms, heavy winds which caused some students to tumble to the ground - desperately clutching to anything that'll prevent them from being knocked around by the ever-growing storm. Yet the soldier was not deterred. His blade - trained both of the parakeet colored tornado dragons. The dragon strengthened the whirlwinds - a tornado forming overhead - slowly descending onto his form. Yet, the soldier continues to march. It was at that moment that everyone knew, this dragon - like the Red-Eyes - will be horrifically slaughtered.

The tornado finally crashes. The formidable winds - vacuuming whatever isn't on the ground - consumed and...

...and it was sliced in two. It defied every possible law of physics and aerodynamics. The soldier should have been shredded in the hurricane. Yet he still stands, with his sword now pointing downward. By god, Bastion figured out, he cut the tornado in two. The dragon began to flap it's wing, creating the moment for another hurrica

The soldier slashed upward.

 **Opponent: 7800 - (3000 - 2400) = 7200**

 **Hand: 2**

 **[] [] [] [] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [] [Manju of the Ten Thousand Hands] [B.L.S.] [Envoy]**

 **[][][][][]**

 **Hand: 1**

 **Dimitri: 8000 LP**

Nobody could speak. How could they? The duelist Dimitri was dueling has a near perfect win record - rumored only to lose to Zane. His deck - notoriously known to summon omnipotent dragons that are nearly impossible to get rid of. Bastion says almost because today he saw Dimitri - Dimitri of all people - to bid not only two of the most legendary monsters in duelist history but also board-wipe one of the best duelists on Duel Academy. Now defenseless - Manju will inflict 1400 direct damage to him; leaving him with a grand total of 5800. Bastion looks over at the Dragon Ruler's hand and smirked. Dark Hole. Next turn, he'll use that card to get rid of the two Black Luster Soldier and summon more-

The spell card was suddenly pierced - pierced by a sword.

Eyes trailed over to the Black Luster Soldier - his eyes bearing down on the intimidated duelist. Say what you will, but having the Black Luster Soldier icy stare scrutinizing you would make any man terrified.

"I lied," Dimitri started to rattle, "I said there was one effect of the four that you need to worry about? Yeah, I lied, there's two."

Two?

"The first is what my knight is currently doing. Thanks to the effects of Evening Twilight Knight, I can banish one random card in your hand." The soldier pulled away and flicked the spell card away from the duelist. "But that was just the beginning. I'll begin with Envoy of the Beginning's effect." The replica's eyes were solely onto the duelist. "When I successfully attack one of your monsters with this monster - after the damage calculation - he gets to attack again."

"No way!" a Slifer red proclaim. Everyone watched helplessly as the replica - stabbing the scimitar into the ground - walked up to the duelist. He exhibited no emotions Bastion was able to identify. It blurred in front of the duelist - and decked him right across the face. On top of this, Manju, with two of his ten thousand hands, sucker punched the duelist in the gut. As the Envoy of Beginning socked the duelist across the face, Manju's second had had punched him on the other cheek

 **Opponent: 7200 - (3000 + 1400) = 2800**

Bastion watched grimly. Losing 5200 life points was not a great start to the game, but he've seen the Dragon Ruler come out from worse situation - dare he say it - his rival can most definitely can turn this situation around-

"Remember that second effect I was talking about." The expectation for his rival to win shattered like million shards of broken dreams. "Now this is thanks to my Beginning Knight."

His eyes were the first to move. The Revenant's purple eyes looked onto the now terror-striken duelist.

"When he successfully destroys a monster..."

His whole body turned to the duelist.

"...and successfully sends it to the graveyard...

It raised it's scimitar.

"...it can make a second attack."

 _And the blade drops._


	4. In Media Res IV - The Point of No Return

Summary

(Conclusion of Duel 2) "My formula for human greatness is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not in the future, not in the past, not for all eternity. This is the choice, this is the point of no return.

* * *

 _Past the point of no return  
_ _No backward glances  
_ _Our games of make believe  
_ _Are at an end_

 _\- A Phantom in Love_

* * *

 **0**

The zero that hangs, like a guillotine.  
The most despondent sight beheld in front of my eyes.  
A lover's cries, bemoans my heart tonight -  
heartbroken, she clutches his body - tight.  
I tried to sympathize, but I cannot;  
for this world has nothing, but broken dreams.

 **0**

The zero that hangs, like a guillotine,  
tells me all of what had happened to him.  
"Dimitri," she snarls in furious grief.  
"What did you do to him? What did you do!"  
I told her, "there is nothing to explain.  
He lost." I coldly finished - looking up.

 **0**

The zero that hangs, like a guillotine,  
a number - dimly glowing overhead  
his waxen skin, and the moonlight up  
above - shine down onto his still body,  
giving his form an angelic glimmer -  
A mockery to Michelangelo art.  
It invokes us to feel lamentation,  
yet, there - down the depth - quite near to the soul -  
my heart, for the first time in a long while  
felt itself steadily growing frantic.  
Thu-tum. Thu-thum. Thu-thum. Thu-Thum. Thu-Thum.  
I could hear it's voice, as my terror-stricken  
heart beat faster and faster, a laughter  
from the back of my brain, reverberated -  
It gleefully cheered, "Look! Up over there!"

 **0**

"The zero that hangs, like a guillotine,"  
crackled wickedly, with a child-like tone  
"You suppose that the body she cradles -  
of your enemy - would have been an old -  
a _very_ old - man, but you know he's not.  
Look, look how his jetty black hair changes  
to white, his limbs - weakened, his nerves unstrung!  
Look how he trembles, he's frightened of you.  
You did this. You did this, Dimitri. You."  
I ventured to suppress this evil thought.  
Sick - ailing to a lengthy agony.  
I felt that my senses were leaving me.  
A dread sentence of death - as I look up

 **0**

A zero that hangs, like a guillotine.  
The longer I gaze at it, the world blurs.  
I only felt this for a brief moment.  
Initially I demeaned my own self,  
Destroyer. Monster. Butcher of our dreams.  
What birthed your malice, to inflict such pain  
On cherubs, creatures of absolute joy?  
It plagued me - the device regurgitate  
my cards. My cards. My deck. My plan. My night.  
 _Carpe Noctem_ \- the captain of my soul -  
Walking to the deck of the ship, asks me -  
let him go; I finally let him go.  
No zero hanging, like a guillotine.

* * *

"Who is next?"

Cybernetic-dialect echoed out, apathetic. Each word jarring than the last. If there was anything that had finally gotten through was how demented Dimitri - Dimitri of all people - became. All because, because of -

"Hey guys," Eyes turned to (insert name here) "what are we going to do?" That is the elephant in the room, isn't it? As cruel as it sounds, (insert defeated duelist name's here)'s loss didn't tell much about Dimitri's deck - other than how it's able to summon one of the more powerful monsters in Duel Monster's history:

Black Luster Soldier

If that's not enough to deter anyone from dueling - there was something innately wrong with the duel in general. The way that the Envoy of Beginning took out- no, slain- the Red-Eyes was spine-chilling. The cruelty in which it held the Red-Eyes monster with its blade, watching it slowly die with its cold eyes - the sheer indifference by how both Black Luster Soldier's carry themselves; the lethargic manner by how they executed their task.

Violet eyes that are full of callous splendor.

"Not only can Dimitri summon the Black Luster Soldiers with relative ease," Bastion interjected, "But the monster's he used to ritual summon the Black Luster Soldier - Evening Twilight Knight and Beginning Knight - grants his soldier additional effects." Bastion remembered watching it unfold. (insert loser's name here) had Dark Hole; next turn, it would have destroyed both Black Luster Soldier - giving him time to recover and formulate a plan of attack.

Keyword: would. Everyone watched, in complete dismay, when the Soldier suddenly attacked with his sword. Thanks to Evening Twilight Knight - Black Luster Soldier was able to banish one card in his hand. How lucky for the copycat to get Black Hole - shutting any counterattack (duelist's name here) might have. Then Beginning Knight's effect - made the Black Luster Soldier has the same impact as Envoy of the Beginning.

The executioner's blade was cutting down his form.

"We do what we need to do." One of Julia's student stepped up, "We have to beat Dimitri, we need to get that deck back."

"Do we though?" Eyes turned to a blond-haired Obelisk, bagged eyes and sagging form. "I mean, if Yugi isn't using the deck, and that Ra there is only using that one Black Luster Soldier Monster..."

"What are you trying to say?" One of the students muttered darkly, "That." he points to the bag, lying behind the dried spew Dimitri spat out in the midst of the duel. "is where Yugi's deck is! It's practically a national treasure!"

"What I'm trying to say-" The Obelisk began, "-is, I mean, if Yugi is okay letting that deck go around the world - leaving the opportunity like this Ra to take - then maybe it ain't worth the effort?"

"Are you even listening to yourself!?" Another student hysterically yelled. "Your talking about YUGI'S deck!"

This is getting everyone nowhere. Everyone began to dissolve into a frenzy discourse - all in a while Dimitri jarringly shuffled through his ensanguined deck. His eyes - dead-locked onto the student body. His head, vellicating on occasional moments, made him much more alien than most monsters published in Duel Monster. His eyes - still locked with the now bickering loudly amongst one another. He could feel a migraine growing in his head as the voices around him raise - an unwelcome crescendo.

Unwelcoming. Is this what it feels like to suffer? To explore an unwarranted feeling - to feel something that is so inappropriate for the situation - yet one can't help themselves to touch it? It's not like he can't understand it. Oh, he realized - he saw the ramification happen before his eyes. The consequences of his brother's action left everyone quaking.

Jaden - a shell of his happier self.

Chumley - leaving the island, disillusioned of hope.

Dimitri, he was the one person, the one duelist, he was unable to read. There were two times this had happened. The first was more hopeful than the second. The first time he felt this was with Jaden. He dueled him that night on the pier. It was a different Jaden. A Jaden he had high hopes for - now. Now, he felt it again. It was a horrible feeling. A feeling that anchored his soul with troublesome weary; a feeling he wish he could stamp out. As a brother, he should be sympathizing with the young man in front of him. He was there. He was the first one to see him. To see him hang there in the air, and yet - he cannot. He sincerely wished Dimitri was the vilest man to walk on this island; it would have been easier to stomach the feeling.

Oh, he doesn't hate the Ra student. Far from it. Even when he imitated his brother, it didn't affect him. In fact, in a perverse sense, it helped him grieve. It was a weak attempt. The eldest knew the inner working of his brother since the day he was born, but damn did it hurt to hear that human voice again. Even after that, he couldn't hate him. Life is suffering, the Buddha says in his scriptures. It was Dimitri's way to cope. Who was he to judge?

So he accepted that Dimitri mimicked his brother.

What he can not accept, even when it happened right in front of his eyes, is that Dimitri - the thief that took Yugi's deck - can now be considered a _formidable_ opponent.

"What did you do," A voice sonorously whispers in his ears, "If you had an eternity to do nothing but wait?" The hushed voice tone seemed so loud in comparison to the uproar around him. "Are you keeping yourself busy? Is your mind in a reverie? Do we lose ourselves in our loneliness?" It didn't seem malevolent - quite the opposite. The questions it was asking him, it was rhetorical.

"He waited."

That was a statement.

"He kept himself busy - keeping us all out - he let himself wallow in his misery." The voice hummed, "You're want to pity him, but you know the truth. There is nothing to pity for - cause he never gave one. So now you're thinking, he stewed in his crockpot, and now he had enough. But that's not it either. Because he would be more emotional, he'd have more ardent to the wrongness he suffered. So what is it?"

His eyes finally trained down to the Dragon Ruler duelist. His body was being carried away by some of his classmates - his girlfriend not far trailing behind. Poor girl. She's usually used to see him consistently winning. To see his first loss, and to see it happen like that.

"Look at him." The voice commanded, "He's not even basking the win. He's not taking at the moment to celebrate or even taunt them. He's just standing there, ready for the next fool to try their luck against him." Dazzling Blue eyes are firmly gazing bright hazel. The voice chuckles.

"Now you're getting it. Yes. He's been waiting for this moment for a long time. This is beyond stupidity, beyond madness. This is fanaticism that even genius can't break down. To everyone here, that boy is a lunatic. You're the one to know, the first to know, that he is evoking the spirits of the old. He too is waiting. Waiting to see if Fortuna will protect him. Fortis Fortuna adjuvant. It is only the strong that Fortuna protects. Just as she protects you."

Indeed. The day his friends had vanished from the island was the day he became the most formidable duelist on this island. It wasn't a welcoming feeling, and for two years he waited - waited for someone skilled enough, talented enough, worthy enough to challenge him. He held high hopes for one of Julia's students, but as tonight showed - it wasn't meant to be. His eyes looked to Jaden before it went back to Dimitri.

"Nothing else matters to him," the voice egged, "this is his _carpe noctem_ \- why, you challenging him would make his night. It would give him! You! It would give both of you meaning!"

Meaning?

...

...meaning...

Duel disk now active, the blue-eyed duelist steps forward.

* * *

"You sure took your time," tranquilly I told  
my next adversary. "I must admit -  
I was quite worried, that the last duel  
would be the only challenge I would face."  
How silly of me to forget this man.

Zane Truesdale, the man, the myth, the legend.  
An iconic cliche to fit the face.  
In ten syllables, with each line told -  
A battle between dragonic machines  
And the ferocious Black Luster Soldier.

Electrostatic charge cascading down;  
my skeleton shivering spitefully  
and sadistically it kept me up  
standing - my muscles extremely tensed up -  
my posture fixed as an imposing stick.

Zane said nothing, his deck already in -  
His duel disk, revved up, set, and ready -  
No more talk -his body tells me. Duel.  
I reckon I should oblige to his wish,  
But for this moment - enjoy the silence.

The salty sea breeze chilled my weaken form;  
I quivered from it's light and mild kisses,  
and yet my body - it continues - trapped  
in a self-prison - electricity -  
twice, it had broken my pondering muse.

"This." I respired, "is a big day for me."  
Zane and I simultaneously drew -  
we both held five cards in our hands - contrast -  
Zane is holding five cards in his hand - I  
threw my cards into the hole that says "Hand."

"I would be lying-" I pulled out a coin,  
"If I said I wasn't waiting for this -  
this moment for a long time. You and me -"  
The coin hypnotically took flight, spinnning  
and weaving the outcome of this duel.

The coin bounces on the ground with a "ting"  
It spins some more, bounces again lightly,  
with a "ting" - it bounces and bounces and -  
it stops. A fat head facing up the sky.  
The fool to the king, I draw my sixth card.

"I'll set one monster, and one card face down."

 **Zane  
8000 LP**

 **Hand: 5**

 **[][][][][]  
** **[] [] [] [] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [] [Monster Set] [] []**

 **[][Set][][][]**

 **Hand: 4**

 **8000 LP  
Dimitri**

Zane draws his sixth card. The device again  
starts up, my own Deus Ex Machina,  
informing me of the chances I will  
see the Cyber End Dragon this duel.  
Zero doubt of the probability -  
it tells me, [ **Prospect:** **100%** ]

"Because you have a monster on the field,  
I am able to special summon my  
Cyber Dragon - in attack mode!"

What sensational brightness flood my eyes -  
A serpentine machinery slithers  
from the gleaming summoning pool. The snake  
hissed out an automated battle cry.  
It's large circuitous body twisting  
around Zane, coiling him protectively.

 **Cyber Dragon  
Level 5  
Type: Machine / Effect  
Attribute: Light  
2100/1600**

An offending robot ophidian  
desperately shielding it's master from harm.  
It will grievously fail, he broke my rules.  
Ten syllables I said I'd tell this match,  
Yet Zane summons Cyber Dragon face up,  
Using just eight syllables, the bastard.

"I normal summon Cyber Dragon Zwei,  
in attack mode!"

There! He did it again! Using just three -  
Three syllables this time!... How frustrating.  
I will have absolute delight earning  
this victory. A trophy worth it's gold -  
I'll melt it into liquid and mold it -  
to a ring - inscribed inside, "Fuck you, Zane."

 **Cyber Dragon Zwei  
Level 4  
Type: Machine / Effect  
Attribute: Light  
1500/1000**

"By revealing one spell card from my hand,  
Zwei's name changes into 'Cyber Dragon'  
until the end of this turn - and the card  
I reveal is Polymerization!"

My jubilance blinded me from feeling  
apprehensive at what Zane has in plan.  
Cyber End Dragon, Cyber Twin Dragon -  
It matters not, for this degenerate  
finally manages to finish ten -  
Ten syllables in his exposition.

"Now I will use Polymerization!  
Using two of my Cyber Dragons - as  
fusion materials for Cyber Twin  
Dragon!"

Jubilee murdered, turned to a vampire.  
Is there a difference? I just know Zane sucks -  
Oh I don't mean his dueling prowess,  
As I mentioned - this epic has a rule:  
ten syllables per line; Zane can't do it.  
This problem is rather flabbergasting.

Oh right, Zane has a fusion monster out.

 **Cyber Dragon Zwei  
Level 8  
Type: Machine / Fusion / Effect  
Attribute: Light  
2800/2100**

Now there's a mechanical terror -  
Zwei looming from the left, green sparks crackling  
From its maw; the original dragon  
hissed from the right - white plasma ionized  
and sizzling; both heads hungrily gaze down -  
down at my facedown card. Ah crap, it's screwed.

"Cyber Twin Dragon - attack that monster  
With twin Evolution Burst!"

It began with the tail of the serpent.  
Its steel exo-spines radiated white;  
zealous light that grew brighter and brighter  
as it climbed upward to it's snake-like heads.  
Both heads - both their eyes - incandescent -  
dull orange - quite an oxymoron sight.  
White hot plasma - soles of my shoes melted.  
My knight didn't have any time to scream.

I will interject here and ask you - my beloved readers - what do you think we feel when we duel? Do you think it's just some flimsy - but visually realistic - images that terrifyingly attacks us? When you read the Dragon Ruler duelist leaving in a man-vehicle stretcher, did you stop and ponder "why is he acting like he just died?" I am asking you this because I wish to know just how knowledgeable you all are with the concept of Solid Vision?

When CEO of the Kaiba Corporation - Kaiba Seto - innovated the idea of interactive hologram projection, it went beyond just "looking real." Quoted from the CEO himself, he brought the idea to "recreate the experience of death - and ultimately enhance the game." This is through the collaborative efforts of the Kaiba Corporation and Industrial Illusions. On the bottom right corner of our cards is a small gold square. That golden square is a microchip that houses millions of data on the monster. It doesn't just detail how tall the beast is or how it attacks - it defines explicitly on how pain inflicts upon the duelist.

What I am trying to say is, ladies and gentlemen, is we - in fact - do feel pain when the monsters attack us. Now why am I bringing this up now? You see, the differences in feeling this pain is how much the nerves in your body have developed the pain. That's why it's often rare to see a duelist past thirty - the more we duel, the more painful it becomes. Newer duel disks have safety measures to delay this unfortunate evolution.

So now the question you must answer - what happens when someone like me, directly linked to a system that has every minute detail of a card, experiences pain?

 **[Cyber Twin Dragon may attack again  
During the battle phase. WARNING. Damage  
imminent - neural link at 43%]**

The twin-headed serpentine discharged hot  
electrical gas - cooking and searing  
my skin to charred grotesqueness. I know this -  
because I have felt it. You can't forget -  
You can never forget this type of pain.  
Oh I can tell you how painful it was.  
It singed better than a branding iron,  
my mind yielding to the mockery of  
it's plasmic dragon's breath - the heat from it -  
it was impossible to clearly think.  
The electrical supernova dug -  
it dug past my epidermis and burned -  
it burned throughout my body - inside out.  
Like some fast-acting worm - burying inside!  
My body curls down - into a fetal -  
all the while the pain burns and radiates.  
I screamed - I felt the heat scorch down my throat -  
lungs kindled - oxygen sucked and vented;  
there was no relief - it's rage continues,  
the destruction continues ... it burned ... burned.

* * *

Zane bit back the bile that was attempting to scramble out from his esophagus. But the smell, that smell - of burning skin and hair, quite sickening and disturbing to the senses; it is a smell Zane will never forget. It was something truly horrifying. There, laying on the damaged ground, was a charred body - a breathing-cadaver. Cyber Twin Dragon had most certainly done its damage; Dimitri's sleeves and undershirt was intertwined and glued hideously onto his wrists and torso; the smell of over-cooked flesh was in the air. What brought the bile to even rise from his stomach was how it smelled both disgustingly sweet and rotten. Roses and the mistake of cooking an extremely rotten egg.

"Hey." One of the students whispered in terror, "T-That's just a hologram right? Dimitri is just faking it, right?"

Nobody answered. How could they? They could smell the human barbeque across the field - and Dimitri's screams -

It didn't sound like he was pretending.

* * *

 **Dimitri  
8000 - 2800 = 5200 LP**

Moaning, groaning, and croaking - I sounded -  
All I can do is writhe; cry silently -  
the occasional whimper escaping  
to fruitlessly echo off the wailing  
winds - I ask you now, are you entertained?  
Is my misery beautiful to watch?

I do remember rolling first one way,  
and then the other way, silently screaming  
in agony. The pain - deep - in my arms -  
stinging and burning; Hephestus smelting  
my brittle bones into smouldering heat.

Oh - in the far distance - an wicked laugh.  
No! It wasn't far away - for the sound -  
the sound, mysteriously, resound me.  
A sound that shouldn't belong anywhere  
\- a sound that made my throat gurgle out blood  
\- a sound that came from my hemic pool mouth.

I thank whatever god above that placed  
my body on the side - suffocation  
is no longer my concern, "Are you done?"  
I spat out the blood - iron aftertaste -  
it haunts me into asphyxiation -  
it's a part of the resurrection fun.

"I'll set two cards facedown, and end my turn."

 **Zane  
8000 LP  
Graveyard: 1  
[Cyber Dragon - Cyber Dragon Zwei - Polymerization]  
** **Hand: 1**

 **[][Set][][Set][]  
** **[] [] [Cyber Twin Dragon] [] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [] [] [] []**

 **[][Set][][][]**

 **Hand: 4  
[Evening Twilight Knight]  
Graveyard: 1  
** **5200 LP  
** **Dimitri**

I finally - but shakily - stood up.  
Look at him, unphased and still indifferent -  
He truly deserves the moniker - "King" -  
Nay - kaiser - Caesar - will you bring ruin?  
Will you destroy this island, like with Rome?  
Oh Zane, enjoy that high throne up above -  
I'll savor the moment you terribly -  
fall from grace - I am Cassius Longinus.  
I have planned your death since the beginning.

Quavering - I inserted my drawn card  
in the "Hand" opening - the spell card now  
set along with the three other cards in front.  
Now then - young Julius - allow this one -  
to repay the deed you've wrought onto me.

"I foolishly bury Beginning Knight  
to the graveyard."

Oh dear, I wasn't able to finish  
that specific line with ten syllables.  
Well, considering I was cauterized  
let's just give myself a pass. That aside -  
Beginning Knight; oh look, his handsome face -  
contorted with such delightful horror;  
putrescent hands gripped his armor and slowly -  
oh it slowly dragged him down to the earth.  
The spectacle was quite grotesque to watch;  
violation in imagination;  
it conjures goosebumps just thinking of it.

Another aside to my audience. To understand my excitement in detailing my own monster's death - you need to understand a few things of my stance on metempsychosis; for instance, I must write an exposition in why it was so terrible to watch. The first lesson you learn in the process of reincarnation - you're probably the last person to find out. If there's another schmuck that's unfortunate enough to get resurrected the day after you? Congrats, you're now part of the club.

In any case - there was a word in the community that a corporation began to mass produce duel disks with Solid Visions that are even more verisimilitude for both audience and duelists. There were rumors that the Solid Visions they mass produced - some had souls that made monsters self-aware. A consciousness. A soul. It could be just superstitions but when I think upon this night - when I recall what I saw - I couldn't help but wonder if my deck had that soul?

For I remember, when I watched my knight  
being dragged down the earth, under the ground,  
the land was dry - his body would not sink.  
So two more hands sprouted out from the ground.  
They held the knight - arms and legs - far apart -  
The putrefied hands - they pulled. Pulled! He SCREAMED!  
He was in so much pain his complexion -  
once healthy tan skin - now ashen - ghastly.  
The knight's natural golden skin has sunken;  
something so lifeless - paralyzes me  
\- dyspneic terror remembering it.  
All I can do is imagine stroking  
his salt 'n' pepper hair and hold his hand.

There is a cracking, ripping, popping sound -  
The knight's sobs were cruelly growing weaker -  
The ligaments tears, and the quiet break  
of a stick as the bone bursts off of him.  
A perverse torture; gore pornography;  
he hung there a bloody torso - nodding;  
groaning and staring tearfully upwards.  
The stars - so beautiful and numb - to him.  
The hands pulled the amputated limbs first -  
Then they grabbed his head - crack - easily comes off.  
The body skins next - finally the head.'  
A depiction - which will never be seen -  
that is how it violates our essences.

"By banishing both Evening Twilight Knight  
and Beginning Knight - I fulfill the rules -  
the requirements to conjure upon  
one of my Black Luster Soldier! He is  
the Envoy of the Beginnings! Arise!"

Once again, the dramatis persona -  
A main lead - the Envoy of Beginnings.  
It's illustrious blue armor glistened,  
Underneath the stars and half-moonlit sky.  
Yet just like every other B.L.S.  
Bright lilac eyes bore the two headed snake.

 **Black Luster Soldier - Envoy of the Beginning  
Level 8  
Type: Warrior / Effect  
Attribute: Light  
3000/2500**

"I activate both Evening Twilight Knight's  
and Beginning Knight's effect - when removed -  
Evening Twilight Knight allows me to search,  
from my deck, one ritual monster - and  
Beginning Knight's effect searches one spell -  
A ritual spell card - from deck to hand."

So I searched for my Black Luster Soldier  
and the Black Luster Ritual - to hand.  
Oh but my beloved audience, this,  
This is just the start of my summoning.

Six cards are in my hand - lets add two more.  
He knelt - the saber sheathed behind the shield -  
His hands, clasped and resting on top his knee.  
A purple mephitis seeping from him -  
A incense from the noble revenant.

"I activate the spell card - Primal Seed.  
While Black Luster Soldier - specifically -  
while Envoy of the Beginning is on  
the field - I can target two cards removed  
from the game, and bring them both to my hands."

The two cards that were used to summon the  
Envoy of the Beginning out onto  
the field - they returned to my hand - next to  
the original Black Luster Soldier  
and the Black Luster Ritual spell card.

I haven't even normal summoned yet.

"I activate the ritual spell card,  
Black Luster Ritual, using my knights,  
from my hand as tribute, I can summon  
the Black Luster Soldier onto the field!"

The ritual - I've seen it countless times.  
Yet each instances leaves me equally  
breathless to the splendor of it's call.  
Once more, I witness the beautiful man -  
donned in his deep azure armor- strutted on  
to the front. His weapons in hand - prepared.

 **Black Luster Soldier  
Level 8  
Type: Warrior / Ritual  
Attribute: Earth  
3000/2500  
Effects  
[Beginning Knight's Blessing]  
**● Once per turn: You can target 1 monster your opponent controls; banish it.  
● When this card destroys an opponent's monster by battle and sends it to the Graveyard: You can activate this effect; this card can make a second attack in a row.

 **[Evening Twilight Knight's Blessing]  
** ● Once per turn: You can target 1 monster your opponent controls; banish it.  
● Once per turn: You can banish 1 random card from your opponent's hand face-down, until your opponent's next End Phase.

I think you know what's going to happen next,  
The original readily walked towards  
the giant two headed robot serpentine.  
Like Tempest, it hiss, it roared, and it struck  
the knight - a poor attempt to dissuade it -  
to stop him from getting any closer.  
Yet the soldier marched on. Left foot. Right foot.  
Both heads fired molten plasma from their maws.  
Hailing the knight in a stream of white fire.  
The force in which the evolution burst  
Spewed downward - it trapped my soldier inside  
an asymmetrical prison of light -

But Lo! A saber! Piercing the steel neck  
of one of the twin heads! It cuts sideways -  
decapitation, Zwei's head flops down left -  
it's weight dragged the other head off balance.  
The sword does not move - perforates the head;  
dark oil gushes - staining its pristine form.  
It mechanically groans - the saber stilled;  
smokes exuding from the knight's blue armor -  
his cold demeanor - lively syringa eyes.  
The soldier pulls - and the machine falls.

"My soldiers - harbinger of the sublime  
take this opportunity to attack!"

Envoy struck first; blurring - too fast to see -  
to try and follow the replica is  
futile - a sapphirine smirch; evidence  
to it's presence here in the battlefield.  
There! Envoy stood in front of Zane ...but what...  
What is that? A spherical barrier?  
Wait. His trap cards! Crap, a rookies mistake!

"You activated my trap card - Draining Shield!  
This allows me to negate one attack,  
and increase my life points equal to the  
monster's attack stats. Black Luster Soldier -  
Envoy of the Beginning's base attack  
points are 3000! Therefore my life points..."

 **Zane  
8000 + 3000 = 11000  
**

Eleven thousand life points!? ... no matter-  
I will melt, render and sizzle the fat  
Until there is absolutely nothing.

"You've managed to stop one of my attacks!  
But let's see if luck is still on your side.  
Attack! Black Luster Soldier - cut Zane down!"

The original Black Luster Soldier -  
still standing in the same spot where he slayed  
the twin-headed beast; his eyes roamed to Zane.  
Right foot forward, left foot forward; he walked.  
Determined, focused, spartan-discipline -  
but the knight leisurely strolled to his goal -  
Now face to face with the duelist - I prayed -  
I hope the facedown card won't sabotage  
the attack - and we all waited - hitched breath.

Finally, the Black Luster Soldier...leaves?

What did I just witness? Did that just happen?  
Did Zane activate his last face down card?  
No, it is still set - so what has happened?

I looked over to Zane -,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,...,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,...and I see fear.

It seems so blunt, but that is the truth -  
it's a face I have grown accustomed to -  
a face so easily to identify.  
Ghastly white, mouth agape, eyes very wide -  
A man who has a terror-stricken heart.  
I glanced over at the digital board.

 **Zane  
11000 - 3000 = 8000 LP  
**

Black Luster Soldier's glare; that what happened.  
Damn, he scared the soul out of Zane's body.  
I apologize for my crass writing,  
but ...well damn - to see it the first time -  
it cemented me - for one moment there -  
that this was the best deck I could have chose;  
This would be the deck that represent me,  
Me - Dimitrius Kagurazaka.

"I'll set another card face down - and end my turn."

 **Zane  
8000 LP  
Graveyard: 4  
[Cyber Dragon - Cyber Dragon Zwei - Polymerization - Draining Shield - Cyber Twin Dragon]  
** **Hand: 1**

 **[][][][Set][]  
** **[] [] [] [] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [Envoy] [B.L.S. OG] [] []**

 **[][Set][][Set][]**

 **Hand: 2  
[Evening Twilight Knight - Beginning Knight - Foolish Burial - Primal Seed - Black Luster Ritual]  
Graveyard: 7  
** **5200 LP  
** **Dimitri**

Zane clearly needs some time recover -  
So I shall take this time to ask you all  
a question to answer; patiently waiting  
for the man to begin and end his turn.  
On the advent of - oh wait. He's starting.

"I activate the spell card - Pot of Greed."

Oh - Pot of Greed - letting Zane draw two cards -  
What an annoying card, to say the least.

"Next I activate my Cyber Dragon's  
effect, to special summon him from my hand.

Why is it still legal to use, they ask?  
Simply put, it just makes everything live.  
The most useless deck - accelerated.  
Now doesn't that sound quite nice? I think so.  
Though I quite prefer acquisitiveness -  
over greed - besides, green is so ... nasty.

"I activate Fusion Recovery;  
this spell allows me to bring one monster  
used as a fusion material, and  
a polymerization from the grave -  
and add them to my hand."

...what are the odds of Zane having the third-

"I activate Polymerization,  
fusing my two Cyber Dragons in hand,  
and the one Cyber Dragon on the field,  
in order to summon the all mighty..."

The bastille that kept my sanity sane,  
the cages - it rattles and loudly shakes;  
then I see the body rise from the ground,  
the light pillars accentuating its  
grand and majestic-mechanical form.  
A gargantuan three-headed dragon -  
in all of its machinery glory.  
Three different heads, with different color gems -  
a robotic farce of the ultimate fusion.  
The blue crystals on it's sternum and wings -  
parody of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

 **Cyber End Dragon  
** **Level 10  
** **Type: Machine / Fusion / Effect  
** **Attribute: Light  
** **4000/2800**

"Now go! Attack the Black Luster Soldier!"

Yes. Terror had taken my heart now;  
I remember the pain I felt last turn  
when I was attacked. I did not want to  
experience that kind of pain again.  
I waved over my second face-down card  
Unfortunately my monster cannot  
have this protection; forgive me soldier.  
As Cyber End Dragon's flames danced around  
\- ambling across the dirt - I observed.  
I watched glistening shards of his armor  
vanish in a bright veil of light - the flames licked  
near my body, but it did not touch me.

"I activate my trap card - Defense Draw.  
During the damage calculation - I  
take zero damage, and I draw one card  
afterwards. Thanks for the draw power, Zane.  
Now end your turn, so I can defeat you."

"You shouldn't be thanking me too quickly-"  
Zane responded back, "you have forgotten,  
Dimitri, I too have a facedown card?"

From afar, I see the card flip over,  
A green color card - wait, that's a spell card?

"I play the Surprise Attack From Beyond!  
During my end phase, I can conduct my  
battle phase with monsters that were normal  
or special summoned on this turn - Oh and -"  
Zane's eyes gazed upon the one last soldier.

"I end my turn."

That is when the dragon struck. My soldier -  
The Envoy of the Beginning - he stood  
no chance in defending himself from the  
onslaught - was quickly incinerated -  
but now I had no back up to stop this.  
I felt the blood inside my cheek burn hot -  
The pain has an unpleasant warmth to it.  
Electrical fire licking my left side -  
with three heads focusing onto me...oh...  
could you imagine how much pain I felt?

 **Zane  
8000 LP  
Graveyard: 4  
[Cyber Dragon (3) - Cyber Dragon Zwei - Polymerization - Draining Shield - Cyber Twin Dragon - Surprise Attack From Beyond]  
** **Hand: 0**

 **[][][][][]  
** **[] [] [Cyber End Dragon] [] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [] [] [] []**

 **[][Set][][][]**

 **Hand: 3  
[Evening Twilight Knight - Beginning Knight - Foolish Burial - Primal Seed - Black Luster Ritual - Defense Draw - Black Luster Soldier - 'Envoy of the Beginning']  
Graveyard: 7  
** **5200 - 1000 = 4200 LP  
** **Dimitri**

It was eating away at my stomach.  
I've often prized myself - ignoring pain -  
but that just isn't possible right now.

The pain isn't sharp like a needle point,  
it's not like cutting yourself with a knife -  
oh, this pain, is much more than all of that;  
my innards feels as if it's boiling out;  
everything feels scolded and, move or not,  
a bullet would be a mercy right now...

...beating Zane is the best I can hope for.

* * *

What was happening.

This can't be happening.

How can this be happening?

No matter how much Zane tries to grasp his head around it, the evidence is there. Somehow. Someway. Dimitri is getting hurt by Cyber End Dragon's attack. Dimitri's left face, burned beyond recognition. Cheek went - a sunken crater with a charred center; a collapsed blister; surrounded by a pale outer halo; further surrounded by an extraordinary red halo. Memories of his families vacation swarmed him perversely. The smell of his father's wine collection invaded into his nose - more specifically the scent of corks. Disgustingly, the stench of burnt cork aromatized onto the battlefield.

A grotesque centerpiece.

The side where his face did not burn - it told Zane more than enough of the pain Dimitri is currently suffering; his complexion is ashen; his natural golden skin has sunken in tone to something so lifeless it scares the senior Obelisk student to look at him. Zane watched the Ra's eyes close, and he sucks himself into a deeper place to cope. A scene that is all too familiar for someone like me - I have been in many dark situations before, I felt more pain than most could bear - but this is not the time for me to break away from a character's perspectives. Let us continue with this story.

"I hope you enjoyed that Zane," the voice snarls synthetically "It'll be the last time you'll do that to me-"

Zane watched his opponent kneel next to his satchel. With his right arm, he unbuckled the bag and pulled out the deck box.

"Nice! Zane did it! He made him surrender-"

The Ra angrily smashed the deck back into the bag.

"-or not..."

"I owe you an apology, Zane." The older duelist blinked, "You see, I was going to save this for the grand finale. This was supposed to be used when I'm backed to the corner with a tiebreaker - I should have just taken this out the moment you stepped up to duel."

Instead, the teen pulled a rather gaudy mask from the bag. Zane would immediately say it was ostentatious. Zane couldn't help but ask.

"A mask?"

"Oh, but this is no ordinary mask." Dimitri chuckles, "You can even say this mask is the sole reason we're all here."

"Okay, now it's official" an Obelisk called out, "Dude lost his mind."

"Why wouldn't I?" here he turned to the higher ranking student. "When you know that the main thespian of tragedies stands here, guilty of all the travesty that has happened since today - can you tell me, right to my face, that I am completely sane?"

His fingers smoothed over the mask, here again I pause abruptly, and now with a feeling of wild amazement - for there could be no doubt whatever that, in this instance, I did actually hear a low and apparently distant, but evil, protracted, and most unusual perverse giggle; a malicious cackle - have you come for me once more? Mr. Poe, has the imp returned to me in this night? In the form of this demonic mask that I hold before me?

"Zane, I think you'll be interested in this story." he started, "This mask, it shouldn't be in my hands; hell, it wouldn't appear for another three years. When Atticus tells Jaden to take him to the Abandoned Dorm."

Atticus? Atticus Rhodes? Also, Jaden?

"Atticus tells Jaden he couldn't remember what had transpired in the abandoned dorms, why he has the Nightshroud card and how he came in possession of it. So in order to find out what had happened - why he and others had vanished - and to find out what threats looms beyond the future - he asks Jaden to duel him with his Nightshroud persona. To jog his memories a bit." 

Just what is he implicating? Oppressed, as Zane certainly was, upon the occurrence of this most extraordinary coincidence - of this stranger knowing who Atticus Rhodes even is - a conflicting sensations, which wonder and extreme consternation were predominant, the Obelisk Blue duelist maintained his calm facade.

"but you see - Nightshroud's power diminished two years before that - so the two had to improvise - and there they find this little mask. Yusuke Fujiwara's _first_ prototype."

No sooner had these syllables passed Dimitri's lips - Zane's heart had skipped a beat. His eyes were bent fixedly before Dimitri, and throughout the Cyber Dragon duelist's countenance sat a stony rigidity. A sickly smile quivered about the Black Luster Soldier duelist's lips; and Zane saw that he continue to hush in a low, quick and gibbering whisper.

"Manifested through many months of consultations, with grimoires filled with the dark arts and rituals, your friend attempted to inflict a curse - a rather heinous curse to forget those he loved. Why, with his dear parents parting with him so early, who can blame him for having a bit of an attachment issues. So much so that he becomes paranoid and starts to have ideas - an _idée fixe_ that his friends - you and Atticus - would also forget him. It drove him _mad_. Broke poor little Mount Fuji, to the point that he decides to be the one to forget them, so he wouldn't feel the pain of being forgotten. 

And here, is one of his many attempts achieving it. This mask is not Nightshroud, for nightshroud embodies the cold logic of our consciousness. This one..."

He raises the embossed mask for Zane to see; a mask for a masquerade party - a half of a mask to be exact. Under the moonlight, Zane was able to identify the creamy-white color similar to that of elephant tusks - ivory. That was the name. Zane was able to identify the ivory texture of the mask. The one eyed mask. A mask full of cracks.

"...I believe, is much more powerful than that. This mask is imbued with the first emotion Yusuke immediately wishes to abandon - passion. Love. The compassion in which he holds dearly to you, Atticus and his parents. I've only worn it once - at the night when I found it in the empty dorm - and the hatred - being trapped in since it's creation - oh it nearly killed me. To raptured me to be an absolute frenzy of wrath; of terror; of the sublime; of reverence; of reverie; of love and beauty. If Nightshroud represents logic governing the emotions, this-this far exceeds that. This is when emotion dominates our consciousness to tortured extremes."

Zane could feel the sweat drench his skin; the throbbing of his own eyes; the ringing screams vibrating in his ears; and the increasing thumping of his heart against his chest. Unconsciously, his fingers curl into a fist, nails digging into the palm. Zane couldn't hear his rapid breathing, but he can feel the oxygen flooding in and out of his lungs. Fear tortures his guts, churning his intense stomach cramps. Fear engulfs his conscience, knocking all other thoughts aside. Fear overwhelms his body, making it drastically exhausted. However, most of all, the concern is making him unnaturally calm.

Dimitri slowly lowers it...

"This is where I make my completion. Dimitri the _copycat_ \- he dies tonight..."

...the mask covers his burnt face...

 **[ WARNING - neural link at 216%]**

"...and... _the Marquis of Miseria takes his stand._ "

* * *

...

...

...and nothing.

No malicious ambiance, no maniacal laughter to single a big change, nothing to indicate that the duelist became a big evil. In front of the audience Dimitri stood, horrifically mutilated - his hand still on the mask, now resting on his face. A heavy silence settled over them, thicker then the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around and tried to avoid catching other glances that passed by. Some shifted uncomfortably where they stood/sat and others grasped their sweaty, nervous hands, and even others shuffled their feet against the cobbles of the rocks, awkwardly pointing at the Ra duelist while judging whispers swirled in the air around the small space where quite possibly, the craziest duelist stands.

Immediately Dimitri breaks the tension as he draws his card.

" _Zane Truesdale_ ," he sings lowly but theatrically in a rich baritone, " _It_ _truly was a pleasure; I hope you enjoy this day of revelations."_ the masked duelist glances as his newly drawn card.

 _You have come here,  
In pursuit of your deepest urge  
In pursuit of that desire  
which were silent  
_

The duelist slips the card into the left ditch of the duel disk. His finger pointed afar - and pressed. The air dappled, flowed, and ripples sluggishly in widening circles, splash. From the wrinkle emerged a woman, so gorgeous to the eyes, so subliminal in her nudity - her azure skin sparkling underneath her rainbow colored-hair - with her eyes closed, that beauty magnifies to unexplored heights.

 _...silent..._

She gasps - vibrant magenta eyes bore upward to the bio-luminescent black sea of the sky. Unabashedly, the Ra duelist embraced her from behind; one of his hand, caressing her sharp face, and gently directed her gaze too look at him. His focus solely directed to her distinct face - oblivious to her au naturel form.

 _I've brought you here  
With passions and ardor that fuses and merge,  
The determination I've succumbed to,  
and forcing me to servitude,  
I've completely succumbed to,  
Now I stand here  
With no second thoughts  
I've decided..._

Five souls - two from Zane's disk and three from Dimitri's - materialized ethereally. Form non-existent - the five souls flew upwards to the heavens.

 _...decided..._

Two cards emerged from Dimitri's deck, and the duelist, without ever leaving his gaze off the stripped maiden - placed them into the hatch along with the initial card. He closes his eyes, breaking his hold from her, slowly steps back and breathes:

 _Past  
the point of no  
return_

A flick with his charred hand, and from the ground a deformed pot unearthed itself. Face similar to the mockeries of the African diaspora seen back in the American past; grinning eyes, with a loose tongue sticking from the corners of it's opening.

 _No backward glances_

The pot detonates - shrapnel of dark ceramic shards flying past - descending down into the sea. An uniformed obsidian gem floats above the ground - the only remnant of the pot's existence - shining and radiating a black hue in the air. The trees creaked outside and the dust was whipped up into the air, semi-blinding us as Zane and the others looked to the twisters behind Dimitri. There were three of them. Three gigantic columns of violently twisting air rotating around each other. In horrid fascination - they watched as three of the five souls - that flew to the heavens - were being sucked back down to the dark depths of the oceans.

 _Our games_  
 _of make believe_  
 _are at an end_

The gem itself liquified - a captivating metamorphosis as the dark gem melted away into becoming a card. It gingerly levitates into Dimitri's hand. Just like the other three cards, he slides it into the hatch.

 _Past_  
 _the thoughts of_  
 _if or when_

He pushes his finger again into the air. A card enlarged to reveal "Reinforcement of the Army." Another card pops from his deck.

 _No use resisting_

He pushes again.

 _Abandon thought  
_ _and let the dreams descend_

The maiden curled to a ball as she illuminate brightly, blinding all from her bare form. Dimitri waves to the right, a card emerged - with a young page in a similar cradle position as the maiden. The art depicts the child in a deep slumber; then two more cards emerged - revealing "Evening Twilight Knight" and "Beginning Knight."

 _What raging fire  
_

Dimitri snarls out "fire" as he dismisses the two monster card from view.

 _shall flood the soul?_ _  
_

The maiden's form shivered - a sensation crawled upwards everyone back as they witness the summoning happen in front of their eyes. Over her cerulean blue flesh - cerulean blue silk weaved and hugged her form, even accentuating her femininity to an acute degree. Over this second skin, liquid silver flowed; it quickly hardens into rigid plates - sitting on top of her breasts - into segmented armors pieces.

The light dimmed slightly; the arms that cocooned her form now clad in gauntlets of Prussian blue. The surface of her armor so bright, so luminous, yet this polished sheen - with the bountiful rubies embroidered onto her armor - for reasons that they could not explain - made her look menacing.

 _In this mad mezuzah of a script?_ _  
_

It struck like a lightning bolt. Hurtling downward from the heavens in a flash of blinding light - the object smote into the ground - a thunderous clap - smashing into the rocky terrain - like one of Zeus's mighty bolt. The light finally dies, and she release her hold on herself. As she stands, her hair dyed from the hippie-rainbow to a blood-soak crimson red.

 _What sweet deception waits before us?_

A sword. It's body jagged and serrated - like a tooth of a shark - with an octastar crossguard and a sharp ruby point pommel - stabbed into the earth before her, gleaming like the sun. She reaches out with a steady hand, fingers wrapping delicately around the grip, and pulled from the ground. The blade revealed -the tip so painfully sharp - with a hook like tip - it seems to cut the very air.

The joints in her armor whispered with clink and clank as they supported her weight. She reached her full height - her arm reaching behind - and grabbing a hexapoint shield that matched aesthetically with her design. Undeniably, she definitely looks like an iteration of the Black Luster Soldier.

For violet carmine eyes bore down her enemy.

 **3000/2500**

 _Past  
_ _the point of no  
_ _return_

The blade was lifted - singing a wrathful song - slicing through the air like butter. The tip pointed in the direction of Zane's signature monster. Now you've seen three different Black Luster Soldier - so what makes her more special, more significant, than the other two? Watch and imagine my dear readers for this Valkyrie commands an attention that the other two could imagine they could do. While the original Black Luster Soldier struck from afar - and the Envoy of the Beginning struck fast and true - this war maiden contrasted from the two with her poise and grace. She took a moment to take in the sight of the behemoth.

She walked.

"Wait," (insert a name here) started, "Dimitri isn't going to try and attack Cyber End Dragon, right?"

 _The final threshold_

Ka-klung, ka-klung, ka-klung, ka-klung. The sound of her eerie footsteps echoes - her eyes - locked onto the three headed robotic dragon.

"No way." (insert another name here) refuted, "No matter how strong it is, that one is waaaaaay outclassed by Zane's monster."

Yet she neither decreased nor increased her pace. Tranquilly she kept walking to the monster. Murmurs grew louder as she walked closer and closer to the monster - Cyber End Dragon struck first. All three head spat hot white fire onto the soldier - engulfing her in a sea of blue, cyan and white that contrasted the darkness of the night. But the scarred duelist continue to observe the flames ripped their way through his side of the field. It surrounds him, tendrils of smoke reaching desperately into the sky, as if trying to escape the blazing inferno below. The heat, the flames - rather than making him retract, Dimitri laughs as he presses onto the air once more with his index finger and swiped left.

 _What unspoken secrets_  
 _will we learn?_

What no one expected was the tip of the sword - super-heated from the attack - the blade glowing red hot - scythe down one of the heads cleanly off.

"B-but how?" One of the students hushed, but everyone was too horrified at the female Black Luster Soldier, who look unphased at the fact that she not only took three nova-hot flames to the face, but managed to kill off a head from the hydra machinery. Zane quickly tried to analyze how Dimitri could have accomplish such a feat - but nothing came to mind. Dimitri had no other cards out on the field, and this Black Luster Soldier's attack power is

 **4500**

"What did you do!?"

Yet Zane received no answer from the theatrical duelist, who was more absorbed at the soldier systematically taking the dragon down. Cleaving apart it's body, amputating it's steel wings, and detatching it's second head from the beast's serpentine form in great spurts of oil. Only the center head remain as it forgo the ranged attack and in a flash - the monster has the soldier in it's maws. But the soldier did not fret. Instead the soldier changed the grip on her weapon, presenting the butt-end of her sword and smashed the pommel upward. From the opening, plasma flames spewed, retched out in a continuous scream, dousing the soldier in fire.

Tauntingly, Dimitri sang:

 _Beyond the point_

The blade speared through the bottom jaws of the beast. The hook of the blade latched securely into the machine - and in a magnificent display of gore - the soldier guided the blade downward from the inside; unseaming the cretin from mouth to the belly. A subliminal execution - splitting the dragon in twain as effortlessly as a surgeon opening an anesthetized patient - bifurcated - the dragon folded itself in half with gruesome ease.

 **Zane: 8000 - (4500 - 4000) = 7500**

 _of no  
_ _return_ _  
_

It was at this precipice - when the Cyber End Dragon detonated - when Zane felt himself fly off the ground from the sheer shockwave from the explosion - the heat from the flames that burned wildly on the field - that he realizes just how far out he is from his element. Out of this shock Zane felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of steel shrapnel flying, the hoarse howl of people, the rushing of students, the sudden gulf, the awful gulfing whirlpool of horror that broke normality.

 **Zane: 7500 - 4000 = 3500**

But it isn't over just yet.

 _Past  
the point of no  
_ _return_

Ka-Klung. Ka-klung. Ka-klung.

 _The final threshold_

A new and fearful object soon riveted everyone's attention; it proved how much more intense the excitement wrought in the feelings of the contemplation of agony - brought about by the most appalling spectacles. I assure you, even after my departure, no one will forget this scene. Upon the chaos and anarchy of the battlefield, and Zane disappearing amid the whirlwind of chaotic fire - there - a silhouette - bearing a heavy figure from the outline - stood in front of the fallen figure.

Vibrant violet eyes shined from behind the flames.

 _the bridge is crossed  
_ _so stand and watch  
_ _and burn_

The fury of the flames immediately died away, and a dead calm sullenly reigned. Preternaturally the smokes quickly receded from the two - and there everyone saw the latest work of the Marquis. The agony of Zane's countenance, the convulsive struggle of his frame, his silent screams. There was silence, which did no last long - a loud solitary shriek escaped from the girl that clung onto Zane earlier that night. Held back by other students, she desperately clawed to Zane - her hysterical cries bitten through and through in the intensity of terror.

 _we've past  
_ _the point_

Black Luster Soldier's blade pierced through the duelist's diaphragm

 _of no_

His eyes grew duller and duller.

 _return_

 **The zero that hangs, like a guillotine.**


	5. In Media Res V - Finale of Don Quixote

Summary:

There is this implicit idea that the finale is somehow supposed to be the mind-blowing; it is supposed to be the best part of the story. Be it an authentic ending or a cliffhanger. Why is that? Why do people make that assumption?

* * *

 _"I do not deny that what happened to us is a thing worth laughing at. But it is not worth telling, for not everyone is sufficiently intelligent to be able to see things from the right point of view."_

\- Don Quixote

* * *

I think we all know who I am at this point. I am Dimitri. Alternatively, as you all know me: the copycat duelist. Someone who fundamentally lacks originality. Something that - not just from the dueling community - but society as a whole would deem unfit. You do not have to search long enough to find works proliferating around the online database; dedicating an entire chapter of my wrongdoings. How wrong I am for doing so - how terrible of a person I am for having the audacity to copy the greatest of all time - Yugi Moto.

You find these stories of my folly and these writers attempting to moralize and normalize our want to be original. I find it utterly ironic that these writers attempt to do so - only to back away from that task entirely. They are not original. They are just as fake as I am. Wanting validation in the world - to find approval and acceptance amongst our peers. If you were any dedicated to being original - you would not have fated me to be a copycat. You would have challenged the canon and my existential meaning.

This is not just some parable of a madman. I have seen this when I had found that notebook. With each idea meticulously being inserted into our anesthetized lives - with each parasite latching onto the nothingness of our meaningless lives - peppering them with your dialogues - livening the mood with contrived one-liners that remind audiences: "hey, I am alive."

That is what I had found. With each of our strategies being manipulated to extend the nonexistent drama - to determine the fate of the victor. Oh, how the author attempts to be original. In reality, you inadvertently imprison yourself to the canon of my world.

This is not your fault. I believe the community which we have built upon was, from the start, flawed. There is only so much we - as young artists - can do from just passion alone. Look at what happened in the last four chapters. What I had presented to you all demonstrates that fact. An exercise of literary asceticism. If I had to summarize what I did up to this point with one sentence: this is a story that questions the credibility of a character's narrative.

We have a non-written rule amongst the writers to not flaunt our powers. It signifies the onset of this literary trope we define as Mary and Gary Stu. I think that cliche diatribe is just that - a cliche. You seem to be afraid to let yourself feel intoxicated with power. I understand. It is quite an addiction once you have a taste. It is so easy to be blind to the ants when you are so gigantic. How can anyone fault you for stomping on a few of them? Do not be too powerful - it is too boring. No, that is a lie and you know it. You do not want us to have this power because we did not suffer to obtain this power. No one deserves power unless we endure hardship for it.

You seem so adamant in enforcing those banal ideas, you have never considered putting yourself in an introspective position to examine yourself. Have you stopped for a moment that you are not the hero of your story? You are Tyrion Lannister in the story. You do have a say when we meet and discuss the nature of our predicament. You do have the opportunity in manipulating me to benefit your standings. But make no mistake about it, you have no say in how I live my life.

I have delayed this particular chapter simply because there was no way in justifying my actions seen in the last four chapters. The person that is writing this story is not who he was back when. I have suffered. You will read my sufferings, and I will continue to suffer as you judge my suffering as written text. I will suffer more when you tell me I am some super-powered-moron that could never exist in the real world. That my pain is a metaphorical melodrama portrayed through a literary, theatrical performance. I wonder what you think now? Have I successfully subverted your expectation for these five chapters?

However, then again - I did perform the most cliche trick within my own world -I have dethroned the king. I have defeated Zane Truesdale. Me. A nobody. This moment should be the most sublime - but it had been done so much that you are all decaffeinated with my victory. Well, I can not blame you. This victory is as cliche as it gets.

As a pagan, I address to you my gods. I have heeded your calls, a demand for originality. How is this for originality? You see, before I entered into this form of a treatise, this chapter was originally meant to be written as followed:

 _ **There are moments when realization trickles firstly into the unconscious before the conscious. This is what Dimitri beheld when everyone gazed upon the husk that was once Zane Truesdale with absolute trepidation. Deja vu, those around would have said out loud when Zane's girlfriend finally was able to get to the remains. Helplessly she tried to rouse the fallen duelist to no avail. Dead eyes shined back at tearful ones. As the audience absorb the tepid sight, this writer would like to return to his previous discourse at the very start of this tale.**_

As you may see above - I have been so drunk in my self-ego that my language has suffered from false elevation. My gods, you ask of me of my tardiness? I am late because of my doubt of my vernacular. I look at this paragraph, and I shudder to think that I thought this was okay to be shown for your eyes to see.

Look at how I lead you into the first sentence. What moments do I invoke for you to feel something within the unconscious before the consciousness? I could make the argument that the most accurate magic is from the author's ability to weave their sentences with the language of similes. However, where are the like or the as? There is no comparison to make. In short, in the first sentence, I had failed to make a connection with my audience.

("You monster.") I hear the girl mutter - but what she is telling me is of no importance. Let us return to the bold paragraph that I had the wholeheartedness to believe was an exceptional piece of writing. You see, I believe I had this arrogance from the high I had felt with the fourth chapter. It was my first attempt to do a Herculean effort of writing Homeric poetry.

I had limited myself to writing each line with only ten syllables. That one rule made the creation of the fourth chapter quite a challenge. The style came afterward - but it was the passion that had driven me to finish the text. Now, with the weight off my shoulder, it seemed I was free to allow my imagination to roam for this chapter.

("All this." She waves over to the battlefield responsible for two casualties. "All of this, just because of your stupid identity crisis? Well, I hope you are happy. I hope you enjoyed it.") Yet behold, my language is hyper-embellished to tap into the sublime - an experience that describes as the indescribable. Now I chase the extremities of life and foolishly attempt to show it to the world.

However, this line does nothing: "This is what Dimitri beheld when everyone gazed upon the husk that was once Zane Truesdale with absolute trepidation." This is not sublime. This is just ego. Ego, I think, developed from a lack of parental figure in my life.

My family expects nothing of me. I am a copycat - and they are fine with it. Maybe it is because I am their child, but what does this tell you about me? Is it the fault of my parent that I became like this? Like Zeus, my father is the man who has birthed me from his mind. The holiest epitome of wisdom.

This is what I see in this scene after I had backed away from it, an image of hyper-masculinity - of a king slain by the conqueror. Note how I address myself in the third-person. This is a presentation of power. The story does not progress until I narrate what I see; what I see is everyone gazing "upon the husk that was once Zane Truesdale." I could not have the decency to tell you all that I have murdered Zane. I wanted you - my gods - to figure out the riddle. That your "absolute trepidation" is from me killing this duelist. No, it is until you - the audience - the "everyone" that "[gazes] upon" my work.

Interestingly - like how I critique our community for the drive of originality - I too am deprived of my innovations. What do I do with the corpse of Zane Truesdale? Depict the scene of the Pietà. With Zane's girlfriend trying "to rouse" the duelist, aesthetically we are reminded of Michelangelo's statue of Mary carrying Jesus in her arms. There are, however, a distinction between the two.

With the Pietà - it is an image of serenity. It is an image produced in times after suffering. In the Christian mythos, Christ's crucifixion - to be objectively critiqued in the aesthetic - is a scene of pain. The tormented is nailed onto the cross by the palms and the feet. From the cross, gravity weighs down on the individual, and he or she is only constrained with one device from falling to the ground - the nail. This torture is only the beginning. Dehydration, infection, overheating, starvation, the list of torment goes on.

This image raises the question of the aesthetic tone of Pietà: peace. One would assume that the mother of the tormented would show some semblance of melancholy. That idea is not present with this statue. Michelangelo sculpted Mary's expression to be serene. If Pietà is a consequence of the scene from Christ's crucifixion, then we can conclude the Pietà to be an interpretation of a scene of tranquility. The suffering has ended.

Not for Zane's girlfriend. There was nothing peaceful or calming of what was happening. Her black make-up smears jaggedly; from the corner of her eyes; to a riverbed like a pattern cascading down her cheeks; and under her cute baby-fat filled chin — a real mess of misery that has no other description other than being a sad scene.

(She shrieks out my name.)

Whereas Mary's eyes are shut-closed but relaxed, these were "tearful." Whereas Mary allows Jesus to rest in her arms, she tries "to rouse the fallen duelist." The specificity for the Pietà then becomes paramount, because it depicts an image of accepting death, and has her eyes closed.

For our poor heroine - because she can not accept the reality that she is alive and he is not - all she can do is stare tearfully into Zane's "dead eyes." Sianne Ngai, an associate professor of English at the University of California Los Angeles, mentions how the aesthetic quality traits of the messiness and glossiness are closer to cuteness and zaniness

"DO YOU HEAR ME YOU LITTLE SHIT!?" She venomously cursed, shocking those within the vicinity. "I WILL RIP YOUR GOD DAMN GUTS OUT FROM YOUR STOMACH! YOU TOOK THE MAN OF MY LIFE! MY LOVE! YOU MONSTER!"

Do note that this is not me speaking, but rather the now denude lover. Where was I in my train of thought? Oh yes, the cuteness and the zaniness. Yes, these two quality traits are similar to the messiness and the glossiness concerning twentieth-century "art deco" or "cubism." To Ngai, for us to even begin to understand the aesthetic categories "not as styles but as discursive judgment," is to understand the foundation work of Kantian aesthetic theory. For Ngai: in a "way that might make us wonder why so little attention has been given to this aspect of them."

"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!"

We may find some answers in the "Dimorphous Expressions of Positive Emotion: Displays of Both Care and Aggression in Response to Cute Stimuli." First, we must identify what it means to feel a Dimorphous expression of emotion. One such example explored within the essay is-

* * *

Dimitri nonchalantly moves to the right - dodging the rock that Melody hurled at him. His eyes briefly fettered onto Melody's glistening - tearful eyes. Not a second later, it went back down, back to his fucking deck.

This night was never supposed to happen. Dimitri was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be cannon fodder for fuck sakes. He was supposed to be another guy, another duelist, for her kids to learn. A night for everyone to learn about not being a fucking cookie-cutter. Some stupid shit about the heart of the cards.

Dimitri was supposed to be an _easy_ duelist.

Now two of her students are good as gone. Dante looked like he just aged 60 years and Zane...fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Zane wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't supposed to die like his brother. Damn it. It was supposed to be Melody's night. She was supposed to beat him. Her and Zane were supposed to be together like fucking Romeo and Juliet.

For Christ sakes, he's on Academic Probation for his fucking shit. Where the hell did he even get that deck? A Black Luster Soldier deck? What the shit? Is that even a thing? What the hell was my dad smoking when he made that fucking deck? Why did he think it was a good idea to make that damn archetype?

What the fuck happened? God damn it, what the fuck is going on? How did everything turn to shit this fast?

"Ms. Chung?" I looked down. Sarai, my little girl, the one who've fucking dueled someone in the god damn shadow realm, looked terrified, and I can't blame her. This night, nobody expected _this_ tonight.

"What's going on?"

"I wish I knew," I whispered, "All I know, is that Dimitri is out of his fucking mind." Fuck my language, fuck my censorship. Two of my students are dead, and it's because of this piece of shit standing right in front of me-

Dimitri's head jerked.

Holy fuck, he is one _ugly_ mother fucker.

"Hey, Fontaine. I don't give a shit about the kid but," I gulped as he began to shuffle his deck - his eyes trained on all of us like a wild animal - caged but ready to pounce. "how bad is it?"

"Easily fourth-degree burns." Dr. Fontaine diagnosed. "Those burns permeated past his skin." In short, cooked as a person. "Even if we get him to the hospital, there is no chance in saving any of his skin. There is not a chance he will recover from those wounds. He will need extensive care and -"

"Fuck that." Fontaine glared, but I couldn't give two shits about it. "He _murdered_ my kids. He isn't getting shit."

"Julia, you're getting emotional."

"FUCK YES I AM!" I could feel the eyes on me, but I had to vent. "WOULDN'T YOU FEEL EMOTIONAL WHEN TWO OF YOUR STUDENTS DIED?!"

"Julia please, there are students present-"

"THEN LET THEM LISTEN!" I screamed, "LET THEM HEAR THAT I'M PISSED OFF! I'M SO GOD DAMN PISSED THAT-"

 _Joshua_

That was definitely not normal. I slowly turned to the source of the sound - and at that moment, when our eyes met, I knew, I truly felt out of place. My body shivered, probably covered in goosebumps. His eyes prowled each on student that were here. Narrow. Rigid, cold, hard. At that moment I, no, we knew, he was already far away. His eyes told the story.

There will be no mercy for us.

No. It wasn't even in the eyes. It was how he sang out my name. Borderline being baritone to tenor. It sounds so damn wrong to hear such a wonderful - chime like - sound from his ugly ass face. It was such a fucking alien moment. It sounds cherubic, but it shouldn't. It. Fucking. Shouldn't.

Drimitri draws in a deep breath, his smoldering petrifying glare sending a shiver down their spines.

 _Did you think I would give you the satisfaction to see me grovel? To see me down on my knees and cry about the unfairness of it all? That I would demand why - with Yugi's deck - was I not able to beat your students? Did you think that this was going to be easy? To have the impudence, the pretentiousness, the arrogance to be so snobby - and then expect me to have some sense of amity? Did you expect me to be the same? That my ill-reputed fame would dictate my life?_

He vehemently sang all this while still shuffling his fucking deck.

 _Look at us, monsters. I am a grotesque sight; you're a fetishization of some hormonal writer. I am a human barbecue; you're a parasite in the skin that we - aesthetically - deem beautiful. Don't you see? Our fates - predetermined since the inception of our lives. The difference between you and I - I refuse to be captive of the gods game. If that means to be a monster in everyone's eyes; then let this day be my revivification - I will allow myself to be demonized."_

"Demonized?" Jenny inquired.

" _Yes, to be portrayed as being evil and_ _wicked_." he patronizingly sang, " _A character portrayal so radical and vivid, with a characterization that would make anyone livid. I won't lie, I do have a sickness - a mental depravity, so twisted - that I cannot help but to be explicit."_

He noisily inhaled from his nose - as if he was smelling something fucking tasty in the air.

 _"My performance - as depicted, designated violence executed by someone committed, someone who is not restricted by censored limits - is something, not even the gods could've predicted. For the four chapters - I have to lead you to see this boring world through my eyes. Disgusting and heinous as it seems - this is my beautiful dark twisted fantasy. This is my story."_

I didn't have to look back at everyone to know what we all felt right then and there. I just knew that there was one word to express everyone's expression: horror.

"You're insane." I whispered back.

" _Indeed I am._ _"_ He didn't even bother to deny it, " _Or maybe I am just a lamb, ready to be slaughtered and put in a can. What difference does it make now? At least I know I will not bow. I will not leave this stage with a frown. I will not be a king without a crown-_ _"_

Hey.

Dimitri's eyes moved away from mine and to the supposed stranger - and they quickly shined with both the paradoxical nature of amusement and bemusement, " _Well, this is quite a surprise."_ The duelist's head jerk to the crowd, _"Then again, it may not be too much of a surprise."_

He smiles.

 _"After all - fate has deemed us to be enemies since this episode's inception. Maybe this time, this duel will actually be fun."_

Curiosity murdered seven kittens.

I look to the source of that sonorous voice...

* * *

"...Jaden." **Ms.** Chung glaringly whispers with a warning, but it didn't do too much for me. Nothing really does anymore. I felt pretty numb while watching these matches. I should feel some excitement. I mean, look at Dimitri. I don't know much about him, but seeing him duel tells me he is just as good as Bastion, Brier, Melody or anyone else in Ra. Colors shouldn't matter - and Dimitri just proved that with two duels.

I should be happy. I should be excited. I should feel something about this. I watched Dante and Zane - two of the best duelists on this island - beaten down like pizza dough. That meant there was competition on this island. Something that motivated me to come to the islands. This should be my moment to feel something.

Sy. Why don't I feel anything? Why can't I be thrilled for this moment? I was eager when Titan came to the island and tried to scare us. I was freaking juiced when I dueled Zane. I even felt a tug when I saw others duel! But with Dimitri? I can't. I feel hollow.

I wish you were here Chumley - I could use some of your grilled-cheese talk right now. I could use some of that "licious" stuff you would say. I could use some friends right now. I could use some sun to shine my sad days away.

I miss everyone.

But now is not the time to feel that way.

"What do you mean 'fate'?"

" _Oh Jaden Yuki,"_ I really wished he stopped sing-talking (or whatever they call it), " _You may not be able to see, but this was all meant to be."_

He paused to look over at Melody and Zane. " _Well, excluding the trash and Zanes interference, you challenging me is the gods attempt for canonical perseverance. To be blunt, I did not expect this shit-fest to manifest."_

"Shit-fest to manifest? That's a bit of a reach for a rhyme. I mean, you couldn't have tried like best or rest?"

That got a chuckle from Dimitri - he still kept shuffling his deck. _"I guess not. Jaden, you must realize I have fought. Fought for so long to not get caught. To find answers my question sought."_

"Hey, you're getting better at it." I lightheartedly jabbed, "Soon enough, you'll be writing like Shakespeare." That's a lie. I'm not trying to complement him. I'm actually trying to get mad at everything that happened tonight. I'm trying a bit of something Alexis calls sarcasm. I don't think I nailed it - but hey, it was worth a shot.

" _Would you believe me, if I said that the rhymes are unintentional from me?"_

"Not really, but I also know something else."

 _"Is it something spirituel?"_

He meant 'spiritual.' Still, I have to give him props for bending the word to his own. Don't know if it works, but he's trying - and speaking of which:

"You're scared."

 _"Scared?"_

"You're trying so hard, it's kind of obvious." I kept my eyes on him, even as he put his deck into his duel disk, "Is it bad as you say?"

Dimitri stopped his shuffling, "You have no idea."

He stopped singing.

"I've lost so many times. Too many to count. I've experienced humiliation. Not just from you, but from people who are not even worthy to face me. You. You at least had the excuse of fighting the unknown. These leeches that seek for cheap fame - they know everything about us. Your life, your deck, your future. You at least are favored by the gods. You are their champion. You are their idol. You are the picture boy of a moronic child that needs guidance. Me? I'm just another one that will bite the dust. After this night, nobody will know me. Nobody will ever see me. Nobody will bother to even check on me. The gods have chosen you as their Abraham."

He draws out five card.

"...and I am the sheep that you are going to sacrifice."

I lightly scratch my cheeks - huh, now that I think about it, I haven't done _that_ for a while.

"Sorry you feel that way."

"Don't be, I chose this. Just like how I chose to piss you off on that day."

 _Hey J! You're going to miss Crowler's lecture - come on!_

"Did you do it on purpose?"

 _You..._

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I thought it would make you feel better. In hindsight, it was a bad idea."

"Yeah, it was."

 _Get off of him Jaden!_

 _Dude! What the hell!_

 _Jaden! STOP!_

"...and I'm sorry for trying to kill you."

"Don't be." Dimitri looked away, "You made that choice, and I made mine."

"Yeah." I pulled my deck from my box, "You did."

I was hoping, at that moment, I'd feel something - like a fire being lit in my heart. Something that would motivate me to be pumped for this duel. I waited for my dueling spirit to push me to focus on this duel. To make me feel like this will be a fun duel. I looked to Dimitri; I wanted him to say something that would make me mad; to make me sad; to make me see him as someone bad. I couldn't. I still couldn't. Because in the end, the truth remains.

This isn't his fault.

I don't know who to blame for this. There is no one to push my anger with. There was none to give.

"...Well." Dimitri began as I put my deck into my duel disk, the number rising up to 8000, "Shall we get started?"

"Mmm."

"You saw the last two duel Jaden, I'm much stronger than I used to be. No offense, but you're not in my league anymore." Eight green orbs light above his head like a radioactive halo: a disfigured saint, a fallen angel.

"Same to you."

* * *

 **Jaden  
8000  
Hand: 5**

 **[] [] [] [] []**

 **[] []**

 **[] [] [] [] []**

 **[][][][][]  
Hand: 5  
8  
** **Dimitri**

* * *

"Here we go." Jaden makes the first move. Six cards in hand, he didn't even have to wait. With telegraphed movement- just as how the notebook plans out - the Slifer duelist summons the buxom Burstinatrix in defense mode. An aulluring woman of the elemental heroes - her suit was more of a tattoo painted onto her nakedness. The flames danced around her form - accentuating her to appear more of a hellish succubus than a hero. But her smoldering eyes expresses nothing but ice. This is why so many young duelists here are bewitched by her looks - how could someone so sensual be so cold? Even now - with tragedy befalling on this night - these men hungrily gaze upon her figure. Their minds were quickly filled with concupiscent dreams - and I can tell by their gaze trained onto her voluptuous figure - and not on her face.

The device drilled on the side of my skull informed me of her stats, but I was more interested in the lore she was supplied with:

 ** _A flame manipulator who was the first Elemental HERO woman. Her Burstfire burns away villainy._**

The situation seems more ironic than it should. Half of my body burned beyond recognition. Will she finish the job?

No. She does not. Jaden ends his turn. I am spared from her flames. Pathetically, I wished she did.

" _When I face you Jaden, I do feel tense._ _"_ the passion of the phantom invokes my weary soul, " _Unfortunately, you did not learn from the last two duel."_

"What's that suppose to mean?"

 _"What I mean, young Aeneas, is that you made two mistakes."_

"Just two?" Jaden cheekily asks, but my attention was more drawn to the card I had drew.

 _"First, you did not fortify your defenses with spells or traps..."_

Now if Burstinatrix's appearance wasn't ironic, this card definitely was. An angel. Do you mock me for falling from grace? Gods, are you trying to send me a message? Are you giving me a chance to find hope? To show my my goal - only to quash it in the end? Yes, Jaden Yuki may be your champion. Yes, I may be the one reviled in this world. Yes, I have committed evils that all would despise. Jaden is the hero, and I am the dragon.

" _...your second mistake was not using Polymerization."_

I will not make this easy.

"H-How did you know that I-"

I didn't let him recover. I attacked.

" _I activate Graceful Charity - although I have to discard two cards, it allows me to draw three card upon activation."_

I will not make this easy.

 _"I discard two monsters, one light and one dark."_ Jaden looked rather bemused at my specificity. In fact, he voiced out his confusion. "Well, that seems rather specific. Why would you tell me-"

He stopped, and I smiled. Like dominos, his expression quickly changed from childish bewilderment to horror-stricken realization. Yes Jaden. That is why I told you that. I don't reveal my plans just to be a malicious enemy. Nor do I do it to fill a trope. I did it because I am a degenerate. I am so much more sadistic than the average duelist. Because, my gods, you all know that the two tribute does not have to entail Beginning Knight or Evening Twilight Knight.

 **I will not make this easy.**

 _"By banishing one light and one dark monster from my graveyard, I can special summon..."_

* * *

"I don't think I can continue with this." Bastion tiredly looked up from the manuscript, "You summoning Black Luster Soldier: Envoy of the Beginning on the first turn? The fourth chapter - I had to do my best to suspend my disbelief, but this is just getting ridiculous."

"It isn't suppose to be realistic." I countered, "This is a fictional work - this is just working off of a creative license."

"Yes, but that is beside the point Dimitri," Bastion sighs as he flips back to the first page, "The start of the chapter looked good - but now it's just being contrived. This is not even going on the issue of you breaking character - twice. It was ridiculous with the fourth chapter. First as the phantom of the opera, and now with this chapter as some sort of literary critic. Its just not a good chapter Dimitri."

"I admit, I was running dry towards the end." I shrugged, "But that is why you're the first person reading this. See you're my Watson - and I'm your Sherlock. I consult you on things that I don't get."

"I appreciate that you trust me that much." Bastion dryly quipped. "Therefore, allow me to say this: please don't plagiarize Edgar Allan Poe."

"Come on, are you honestly that surprised when you saw that? I am the Copycat duelist."

"Yes, but you are not a plagiarizing duelist."

"We all plagiarize at one point in our lives, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." Bastion looked exasperated as he flipped back to the fifth chapter. "Also who is this Julia Chung? Melody? Jenny? You need to give more background information on these characters. You can't expect your audience to just accept these characters as is."

"The story is called _In Media Res_. The concept is that you, the reader, are jumping into the middle of the story."

"No. It's called Traegodia - and the only thing tragic about this story is how _underdeveloped_ it is. Also you are too powerful - you're literally a Gary Stu at this point. The first chapter I could relate to your _fictitious_ situation. By the time I got halfway to the fourth chapter I just wanted to close this book."

"...is it really that bad?"

Bastion gave a firm nod.

"Well - back to the lab then." Bastion hands me back my story, his expression much more relaxed than is. "I did enjoy the chapter that you've dedicated to me. Though, could you please not stereotype my English background?"

"Everybody hates the English - you colonizing bastards." That got a quiet chuckle as he picked up his cup. "How come your pinky isn't sticking out?"

"...you do realize that _no one_ does that? That particular act is a sign of elitism."

"What and the Brits aren't a bunch of ponces that flirts with elitism?"

"What did I just say about stereotyping my ethnic background?"

"That its a delicious crumpets; it motivates you to shut the haters up with your dueling prowess." Bastion chuckles as he took a bite from - I kid you not - a crumpet. We sat outside of the bistro, where other duelists took the time to rejuvenate from this weeks lectures. With a pen in my mouth and the manuscript in my lap, the two of us had been amusing ourselves with this stupid story. Bastions critique had obviously helped, and it is quite obvious that this story needs more work.

"I have to confess," Bastion stares into his cup, "The idea of a deck dedicated to the Black Luster Soldier archetype is quite appealing. How on earth did you even come up with these cards? They are overpowered, but it seems quite plausible for the cards to have these abilities. Have you considered working at Industrial Illusions?"

"Not really," I shrug, "I'm actually thinking of going back to school."

"Aren't you in a school?"

"You know what I mean." I shrugged, "Working on this story, it made me appreciate literature as a whole. I've been reading more than I've been dueling, and I think that's a sign for me. Besides it's like I said, I'm the Copycat duelist. Nobody likes a copycat. I might as well find something I'm actually passionate about-"

"You mean to tell me that you were _**never** _passionate about dueling?"

I was going to refute the statement, but I couldn't. Bastion actually has a point. Do I even enjoy dueling at this point? How many times have I done this? How many times have I had to mask myself with other masks? How long have I spent on this story in contrast of developing my skills as a duelist? Every time I have gone through this, I always find myself falling short of success. I've gone through this more than I can count - but not once did I try to change anything about myself.

Did I care at this point?

"You should go," Bastion looked at me worriedly, but I waved him off. He's worrying for things that aren't related to him. Besides that isn't the reason as to why I'm pushing him away. It's two in the afternoon. Which means that there is only thirty minutes before the store is down to it's last two tickets. "You're going to miss the ticket sales for Yugi's deck exhibition." His eye widened in realization as he quickly gathered his things.

"Oh dear, time certainly flies by when you are distracted." He had his bag over his shoulder and was already walking away from the seat, but stopped when he sees me still sitting in my seat.

"...aren't you coming?"

"I just gave you a story where I take Yugi's deck - and kill people for it." I shrugged and shoo'd him away, "You go and have your gachigasm - I think I'm going to head back to the dorms."

"But...it's just a story." I repeated my actions again. Taking the hint, Bastion scurried off to the dueling commissary to get the said tickets.

"I know what you're thinking." I said aloud, beginning my aside, "You think I've robbed you of a proper ending. That this can't be the way that the story ends. Well it is as Bastion says, I am a **terrible** writer. I know very well that I did not deliver you catharsis. I know that there are mysteries that have not been wrapped up properly. Am I simply a lazy writer? No. I am not. You wanted something original. Well the sad truth is, my dear readers, is that nothing is original about this story. Or any story for that matter. You can make the argument that any stories are just a collection of tropes borrowed from stories older than time itself. This may not be your truth, but it is mine."

I smile as I unzipped my bag, "Oh you shouldn't worry, I have more stories to tell. After all I know just exactly how this story ends. Mark Twain said it best:"

I pulled the notebook from my bag.

 _"Get your facts first, then distort them as you please."_

* * *

 **Dimitri Kagurazaka will return in  
Tragoedia - Simulacrum**


	6. In Simulacrum

Summary:

The sins of living in a simulacrum is the loss of reason. You cannot distinguish what is real and what is fake. Therefore, my intentions is to make a story with an emphasis of the antithetical aspect of this world; an aspect I have use so frequently in my drafts. I will show you trauma - and the horror in seeing the beauty of it.

* * *

 _" _If a demon were to tell you that you must live your life again, exactly the same in every way to the one you are now living, would you rejoice?_ "_

\- Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

Bastion found him in the library. The ceiling lights glinting off the copycat's glasses. His eyes were solely focused on the book in front of him. This is where Dimitri has been for the past year. Silently hunched over a book of his choice that has nothing to do with duel monsters. Today Dimitri informed the English duelist that he would be reading the Romantics and the post-Romantic poets of the bygone days. For whatever reason, Bastion could not pinpoint the sudden shift of interest his friend made to literature. It is still a mystery to Bastion to see his friend - who often puts his passion into his cookie-cutting habits - reading and studying in such a concentrated manner. To see him fixed at something beyond what is necessary for a duelist on Duel Academia is quite disconcerting.

After the Yugi-deck expo, his friend became unusually recluse from the school. His boisterous presence, that at one point was obnoxious, is now sorely missed. Nearly everyone in the Ra dorm were flummoxed at the sudden change (he says nearly, because there are a new batch of students that came this year). Professor Satyr, initially, ignored the issue - but even he notice the sudden change exhibited by the once formerly copycat duelist. Everything seem so sudden with his transformation. For one, his duels are no longer public to anyone. Requested and permitted by the Chancellor Sheppard (whom he had to request again to the new Chancellor who is - shockingly - now Crowler) and the vice-Chancellor (formerly Crowler, now recently hired Jean-Louis Bonaparte), Dimitri's tests are assessed by a panel of proctors. Nobody would explain why - and asking Dimitri about it only made the copycat more ascetic to the inquiries.

Perhaps it is due to the Seven Shadow Riders? Or perhaps that everyone's favorite professor was one of those Shadow Riders? Whatever the cause was, the one time Dimitri exhibited his former behavior was during Spirit Day. It was the one time where Dimitri confessed to him that this would be the last time that he would do this, and after this day, he would do his damnedest to change. It seemed admirable at the time, however now, it seems jarring.

"There plenty of seats around," Dimitri didn't look up from his book, "You don't have to stand there like I'm being quarantined. I'm not going to bite."

Bastion took the invitation, and sat directly across from his roommate. The two sat there silently. The sound of Dimitri's pencils and highlighters desecrating the book seem booming in this sanctified room. Bastion hesitated; where does he start? How has your day been? What have you been doing lately? Are you allowed to write in that book? Is that book even yours? Where does he start?

"What are you reading?"

"Lord Alfred Tennyson." Dimitri left it with that. Picking up his highlighter, he circled the last stanza that ended before the number XXVIII.

"What is important about that section?"

"Stanza." Dimitri corrects Bastion, but rather than answering the English teen with his superfluous question, the duelist read aloud:

 _I hold it true, whate'er befall;  
_ _I feel it, when I sorrow most;  
_ _'Tis better to have loved and lost  
_ _Than never to have loved at all._

"Sounds important." Finally, Dimitri looks up from his book, and pulls his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "Very. It is the ultimate affirmation of Tennyson's feelings for his friend." Dimitri shuts the book with a snap, and flipped it over so Bastion could see the cover of the book.

" _In Memoriam A.H.H."_ Bastion murmurs, "What are the initials?"

"Arthur Henry Hallam," Dimitri glides his fingers over the golden lettering, "A former classmate from Cambridge, his relationship with Tennyson is almost like ours - meeting one day, every week, to discuss over tea and biscuits about serious questions of our place in the world, literature and society." He opened to the preface of the book, "To even refer Hallam as Tennyson friend is a disservice to their relationship. Hallam was one - if not the only one - who supported Tennyson. His support goes as far to write a raving review titled _On Some of the Characteristics of Modern Poetry, and on the Lyrical Poems of Alfred Tennyson_. To say Hallam was Tennyson's soulmate is a fair argument of the twos relationship with one another."

"The poem is titled _In Memoriam,"_ Bastion noted, "I'm assuming then that something had happened to him?"

"He died of a cerebral hemorrhage."

A stroke, Bastion mentally added. Dimitri flipped a few pages in the book, "Tennyson son wrote a memoir of the poet, and his father said: [Arthur Hallam] would have been known, if he had lived, as a great man but not as a great poet; he was as near perfection as mortal man could be." Dimitri closes the book again, "A perfect 'mortal man,' a perfection of the imperfect. That is how he saw Hallam, and his response to his dear friend's death was to write an eulogy with a hundred and thirty-two cantos. The one I just recited was from the end of the twenty-seventh cantos where many of the literary critics highlights how much Hallam meant to Tennyson..."

Bastion certainly did not expect his friend to be so passionate on the issue. He observed as his friend went more in depth on the matter. His eyes has the same flare it did back a year ago, the emotional fire he often sees in duelists on this island - it is of the same glare. The intensity in which his eyes shines is the same as he saw when Jaden dueled Zane at the end of their first year. There was no one but the two of them. This is where Dimitri's duelist spirit has gone...

...and for once, Bastion could not formulate the reason for what he is feeling at the moment. Anger? Disgust? Pity? A cocktail of the negative emotions all stirred into one? Whatever it was, Bastion could no longer relate with his peer. What reason should he care for two dead poets long ago? Why should he give his time to empathize of a man who had lost his friend? He and Dimitri hadn't lost any of their friend, so why be dramatic over something that hasn't happened?

"...and it looks like I am boring you." Bastion snaps his attention back to Dimiti, who looks back at him with nothing but a weary gaze. "Sorry, I know this kind of stuff is not something everyone likes. I'm sorry if I wasted your time with it."

"Not at all," Bastion lies, "I quite enjoy our small talks." Another lie. He used to like them. Now its just too much for the duelist. Especially with what has been happening this year. Sartorius's arrival and upturning the status quo. The once Obelisk dorm is now dubbed the "Society of Light," and each day more and more students are congregating to the ideologue of the supposed "light." Ironically, the one leading the charge is Chazz Princeton - a buffoon who is now a threat to everything the duelists on this island fundamentally believe. Through Chazz, the majority of the school has converted to this new school of thought. Even Alexis has fallen prey to this ideology. What more, only a handful of Ra are left. This includes him, Dimitri, and Professor Satyr.

They are the last vanguard of the Ra dorm.

Chazz took everyone...but them.

Why.

Why?

WHY?

Why them, and not him? What constitute their worth for that Society? What did they have that he didn't?! Dimitri? He is just a copycat, they wouldn't need him for anything, but a genius like him? A prodigy like him? They should be bowing their heads to him, begging for him to join! He defeated Chazz last year, does that not mean anything? Does that ignoramus think he is above him? Sartorius is recruiting students to his flock, categorically ordered by their skill in the game. He may have defeated Alexis, but she never had talent or intellect like he! How dare these peons dare believe they are above him!? HOW DARE THEY

"Something bothering you Bastion?" Dimitri's question cut his mental rant. Dimitri. Of course they wouldn't come for him. Nobody knows just who he is now. Is he even worth anything to the Society? Or to the school? What could this copycat offer that he could not? The rage he felt earlier became pity for his friend. Bastion may never know why he was never chosen for this conversion, but his friend on the other hand - both know why Chazz (or the Society) would never come to him. To call Dimitri a copycat is no longer suitable - he hasn't copied anyone ever since that day. Now, he is a nobody - no one that is worth anything for the Society. Perhaps this is mercy. He could not bear to lose his friend to Sartorius.

"I'm worried about the Society of Light." The intellect answered honestly. This honest, at least, is as much he could do for his friend. With this honesty, he opened his vulnerability to his friend.

"Do you think I'm a strong duelist?"

"That depends on how you define 'strong.'" Dimitri unhesitatingly answers back. "If you are equating 'strong' as having a certain finesse - a certain _je ne sais quoi_ \- then yes, I see you as a strong duelist. If you are seeing that word as a measurement of one's physical capability to accomplish a task - I'd question your reasoning as why you would equate that quality to a card game." Bastion certainly was not expecting that answer. So he quickly clarified as what he meant as "strong."

Dimitri quickly understood. "Essentially, you're defining that word as one's aptitude to comprehend and excel at Duel Monsters." The literate interprets, "If that is what you are worried about, then you shouldn't. There is only one Bastion Misawa; one duelist who can formulate Einstein's space-time into an actual deck. A duelist who can sabotage someone's deck into a fire-attribute deck - a deck that your Water Dragon can easily demolish without mercy. You, Bastion Misawa, are a strong duelist in that regard."

"In that regard?" Bastion caught the last sentence and revert the statement back as a question.

"You suffer from what I suffered last year, a sense of unchallenged egocentricity." Bastion blankly blinks, "I recognize what you are Bastion, an intellect whose intelligence cannot be challenged. We may practice in two different intellectual fields, but our knowledge in our respective fields are irrefutable. Through this relationship, I also recognize that in the absence of endeavoring an opposition, that we would consider as our equal, we are left with nothing but self-destruction." Dimitri had his glasses back on at this point, and Bastion felt that the former copycat's gaze became more intense as he explicate whatever the hell he is talking about.

So he had to interject at this point, "Dimitri, I'm not suicidal."

"I'm not saying you are, but you cannot deny that whatever you are thinking is self-sabotaging. For the longest time, you used your unique scientific mind for moral good and emphasize that lifestyle to live a fulfilling life. That, in itself, is admirable - but it's no longer sustaining you. It is no longer affirming your stance of the world - as a duelist who succeeds through empirical data - and now you are seeking for a different assurance. So lets me rephrase my previous question: 'What is bothering you Bastion?'"

It was a no brainier.

"It's about the Society of Light. If they're going for the best, then why aren't they going after me?"

Unlike the others, who quickly scolded him for even considering about being "wanted" by that fiendish group, Dimitri's body language spoke volume of seriously contemplating the question. There was no quick assumption or judging on the consequences of joining the Society; there was no finger-pointing on how if he joined - he'd be a mindless, worshiping, zombie for Sartorious. It was during that silent moment that Bastion remembers why he cherished his friendship with Dimitri. Others would just see the binary of what is good and what is bad. Dimitri makes a point to suspend those moral judgement. It's what he began to break that silence that Bastion truly realizes that Dimitri is just like he: an intellectual.

"In this year of ideologies, we must examine our position in relation to the language the Society uses in the war of attrition. You ask 'why aren't they going after me?' as if they do not see you worth their attention. Have you considered the possibility of the other extremity? What if they aren't coming for you because they are _afraid?"_

"Afraid? Of me?" Bastion asks, his hope suddenly being reinvigorated at the thought. Dimitri pauses, as if to recall something from the past. "Chazz is the one recruiting followers for Sartorious's Society. He, and everyone else in that school, knows that he was badly humiliated last year by _you."_ Dimitri leans forward, as if to tell a secret only he and Bastion will know, "Now imagine this scenario, if they did follow up with that line of thought - of recruiting duelists who are worth Sartorious's time - what would happen if Chazz had dueled you first from the Ra dormitory and _lost?"_

So Bastion visualizes the scenario in his head. After he conquers the Obelisk dorm and taking Alexis to their side, he envisage the harbinger of the light challenging him. The hypothetical dream quickly overwhelms him with pride as he sees himself over a distraught Chazz, victorious of their faux duel. More importantly, he could see the students eyes fill with doubt as some quickly strip themselves off the offending white blazer. The dream was not over, yet Bastion responds to Dimitri's inquiry. "The Society's reputation and their worth would become moot for future initiates." Bastion slowly answers, realizing that the hope he felt is now overshadowing his doubt he had earlier.

"As I said, it's a war of attrition. That means that it's also a mental war," Dimitri adds on, "I think they're trying to break you down to this particular state, where egocentricity overtakes rationality. You and I both know that it isn't rational to want to be in the Society of Light - but because they're actively avoiding you and propagating this fallacy of only recruiting strong - no let's correct that statement - the fallacy of only recruiting _competent_ duelists? It is all a strategic ruse. They're doing it to attack you psychologically." Dimitri stretches his hand to hold Bastion's hands in comfort, "I sincerely apologize if I'm a bad friend for suggesting this idea, but I think they're succeeding if you're asking me about why the Society are not going after you."

"No," Bastion shook his head, "You're wrong. You're an opposite of a bad friend. I'm - well - I'm actually glad you told me this, you've alleviated much of my worries."

Dimitri smiles and pats his friends hand from across the desk. "Well that's what friends do. You're my Ratty to me being your Mole. You're my Harry to me being your Ron."

"Just this once, I'm going to overlook those English stereotypes." Nevertheless, Bastion's heart felt warm at the first comparison. "Do you think this library has a copy of _Wind in the Willows?"_

"I have a copy in my room," Dimitri put the other library books in his bag, "Let me go check these books out, and we can go back to my room for that book."

"I swear, you're becoming more English than me."

"Me? More English than an Englishman? Never." Dimitri pauses, "I think we should also get Professor Satyr to get us some of his rumored homemade wine."

"I hate to drink." Bastion reminds Dimitri, who shrugs in response. "I hate math, but you don't see me complaining about it. Now shut up and get back to the dorms. Go get your cheese and biscuits, we're having a wine and cheese party. _Ra members only_." That got a chortle from the depressed intellectual, who slowly - but happily - got out of his seat and walked to the exit.

"Dimitri," The named duelist looked up from his bag, and saw Bastion with a genuine look of joy, "I truly do mean it. Thank you."

"You're absolutely welcome. I also do mean this as well; don't worry about it." Bastion took it as his cue to leave the room, leaving Dimitri alone in the library.

* * *

That night, Bastion laid in his bed with a copy of Dimitri's _Wind of the Willows_ by his side. For the first time in his life - he felt at peace with himself. Of course, it did help that Professor Satyr graciously gave them one of his homemade wine (with the promise that the two would only share it among themselves.) Inebriated, he drunkenly thought back at Dimitri's observations, and felt a sense of pride that he had not felt for such a long time. Normally, the teen would never bring this cheese out - but as Dimitri and even Professor Satyr positively notes - no one can smell the cheese if they are the only ones left. The three enjoyed that day with Bastion's cheese collection and sampling the professor's wine collection. Eventually the professor had to leave to process the paperwork for the students that are transferring to the white dorm (which Dimitri drunkenly calls the most 'racist' dorm to be ever conceived, much to the two's humor). Bastion pauses for a moment, and recalls another time where he felt insecure of himself and his talent as a duelist.

"Have I ever told you about Tania?"

"Of the Amazon? I think you mentioned her to me once or twice, but you never gave me a name." Dimitri answered from his seat, a simple goblet sitting on the drafting desk the former copycat had swapped from the school-issued desks. In one hand is _Winnie the Pooh,_ the other is a biscuit covered with Bastion's LeBele bleu cheese.

"What have I told you about her?"

"Not much," Dimitri answers in the midst of his chewing. "Other than how she metamorphoses to a tiger after Jaden's victory, you mostly kept her to yourself." It was at that moment that Dimitri eyes Bastion's wine glass - wondering if it was a good idea to get his friend drunk like this. Tania - to Dimitri's knowledge - is a secret Bastion rarely tells anyone. This is not safe. Dimitri walked over to Bastion's bed and took the wine glass from his bed stand. "I think you had too much if you're going to talk about her." In response, Bastion swipes the glass back and downed the alcohol in one go. "Now I know you had too much."

"I loved her." Dimitri shook his head as Bastion befuddled into his story, "She was my siren song, I would have given everything up for her."

"I distinctly remember that you did." Bastion's guffaw was something that nobody would hear anywhere else but in this moment, but Dimitri knows a painful story when hearing one. This story will definitely be a story that regresses back to a painful memory. "I didn't know whether or not she was being honest while we dueled, but she said she wanted me. Have you wondered - years of being unseen, unrecognized, unappreciated - then suddenly! Someone comes to your life, and says that they _want_ you. Every word I utter, she was fascinated by, she was more than entertained than my vocabulary - she was allured by my diction. She was cajole by my presence. Do you know that feeling?"

"Excluding my parents, no I don't." Dimitri lies, knowing exactly what Bastion was inferring to.

"She asked me for marriage - one of the most intimate union of a man and woman. A bond recognized by the powers that be, who created us in their image. She also wanted to have children - with me! Children with her? What a novel way to distract someone!"

"...but you did see them didn't you?" Bastion grew silent at the question, so Dimitri pushed on. "You saw them in your mind: their complexion, athletic bodies, sharp mind. An idea which inseminated within the recess of your consciousness. I can't tell if she was serious with you, but I can say this - as gods, who wouldn't want the possibility of seeing their children in their image?" Dimitri takes the empty cup from Bastion's hand, "You did nothing wrong, anyone in your position would've fallen for her charms."

"I thought I was above all that. I truly believed that I could have conquered my own feelings - and prove that I was the best. I did my damnedest to deny that I was smitten by her. Did you know what she told me during the match? She told me that if I were to lose to her, she would teach me everything. I did not know what she meant by that. It could have been her strategy to distract me further from my victory. Each countermove I made, she matched it without hesitation. She told me we had great chemistry one another. For that moment, I did see her as my oxygen to my double hydrogen. She must have seen it too - why else would she offer me to her home? Her bed? Her comfort?"

"Wait, you actually slept with her?" Dimitri pulls a black notebook from one of his shelves and flipped to a page. Strangely enough, he didn't seem to be writing anything there. Rather, he was more focused on whatever was written in there. Frantically, his eyes wandered across the pages of his notebook. His eyes danced back and forth from Bastion and to the notebook. "Well, I'll be damned. So those screams you were making that night? They weren't from dueling they were from-"

"Yes."

Bastion left it at that. No need to pursue that trauma. Dimitri snaps the book shut and returned it back to the shelves.

"I saw her trap card." He murmurs, "I knew I was walking into that trap, but I still chose to walk into it. Why? I couldn't tell you. No scientific formula could explicate what I felt, why I felt the way I felt that day. Maybe I am an idiot; maybe I am a hopeless romantic; but would anyone else fare better than I?"

"In all honesty?" Dimitri refills the cup with the Dionysian blessing, "No. I've seen your sketches of her. She is beautiful. She is nothing like Alexis. If Alexis is the dame of the Obelisk that everyone fantasizes, then Tania, that one, is a walking - breathing - Dido. You were just unfortunate to be her Aeneas." Dimitri walked back to his desk and grabbed his wine, along with another cheese spread biscuit from the cheese platter, "Intoxicating like this wine, and if anyone else says otherwise, then they are as delusional as you were. They weren't there to duel her; they weren't in your position. Believe me, if a woman talked to me like that? I would have abandoned everything for her."

"But not Jaden. He managed to-"

"I'm going to stop you right there. I think we established that Jaden is a freak of nature, even to our standard of insanity."

Bastion chuckles underneath his tipsy breath, "Since when were we insane?"

"Since you began to write formulas on our walls the first day we moved in here. For me? When I begin to equate every book, every plays, every poems with the world. For me, my moment of insanity came when I fully accepted the ideologue that death is the most glorious of the human condition. Anything that gets in the way of that process - in my eyes - becomes parasitic."

"Be careful friend, you're starting to sound like an egomaniac."

"We're both drunk. I think you can forgive me for a slip of the tongue. Sometimes I may be insane, and sometimes I might not be. You can never tell with me."

The two moved out to the balcony and silently drank and ate in the night, pondering on the years that came before them. The stars narrating the stories of the heroes that came before them. That was in Dimitri's mind-eyes. Bastion saw it differently, and he did not hesitate to explicate the stars above them: "Stars," he began, with tears of his forgotten love streaming proudly from his eyes, "are formed in clouds of gas and dust, known as nebulae. The nuclear reactions at the core of these starts provide enough energy to illuminate from afar. Their life depends on how large they are. Did you know? The bigger the star, the faster they age?"

And there, Dimitri silently listened to his friend tell a subtle story of the pain he is feeling. The betrayal he felt for that woman to throw all those feelings aside, simply because his star burned too fast, and too soon for her to appreciate his genius - his humanity. At that moment, Dimitri wished he was back in his first year. Back at that night where he took Yugi's deck. Back at that moment to find Tania and kill her.

Yes.  
Kill her.

He would have taken the fire-axe on the third floor of the school - and in the midst of their match, in between their turn, he would sneak in the shadows and bury that hatchet in the top of her skull. Damn duelist honor. His friend - his one friend who stood by and read his stories - is in pain; she shouldn't have escaped. She should've died with Camula and the Titan. It would have been the second time where he would embrace the horrors etched on everyone's face. He would have, once more, embraced the sublime of violence - just that once - to shield Bastion from this emotion.

Yet, as he continued to go on about the stars - from the Red Giant or a Red Supergiant - and talk about the final stages of the stars life, Dimitri held back the violent thoughts. If he did kill that wretched Amazon, he and Bastion would never be close like this. Bastion would never open himself like this. Ever. No stories Dimitri explored through this cruel and tragic world would shine a light like this to his friend. A light that shows his humanity. A light in which we could sympathize. Empathize.

"Our son, our Sun" Bastion repeats, "would have a relatively peaceful and beautiful death. We would be dead by then, but when the time comes - it will become a white dwarf." Was he talking about him and he? Tania and he? Or a future love that he will never see? Whatever it was, Dimitri could not tell. What is clear, however, is that his friend is broken. Damaged. Hurt. This was a secret he held to himself for a entire year. No one to tell to. Too busy to live a selfish life to hear a broken man's story. Not he. No, he is just as broken as Bastion. Maybe that is why he sees Bastion as his bossom friend. He is someone Dimitri could relate to. So the copycat gently pats his friend on his back, and raised his glass. "To your son."

"To the sun." Bastion clinks the glass with Dimitri's, and the two blissfully watch the magnificence of the night sky. They spent the next hour in relative silence, and before long Bastion retires to his bed...

...I can't do this anymore. Lets stop with the lies. I can't be lying to myself as much as I am lying to you. This is not what you came here to see. This is certainly not something you want to see. Yet, I offer nothing but this? Yes. Why? Because it is the only thing I can offer for you to see. This is what I can offer as I arm myself for tonight's war - listening to Bastion whisper continuously that woman's name:

I can't help but to ask you, any of you, if living a life of an episodic character is not as bad as it can be. On one hand, it is certainly idyllic to live a life where everything comes at your leisure. At the same time, is it really good to live like Jaden Yuki, Syrus Truesdale, or any of the canonical characters? As I look myself in the mirror, and see my duel disk hang on my bossom like Crowlers, I interpret my answer like this:

Nothing can come to you - nothing goes out from you. You are just an empty vessel. This is where the danger beings. When you start seeing yourself as a vessel, you see that the world is just implementing any coherent thoughts into that empty vessel. Being a puppet garners a whole new meaning. Here I can't help but to ask (as I pull a familiar mask from my safe in the near-silence of the night) if you have or had read Ralph Ellison's _Invisible Man?_ A subversive tale that explores an American that is rarely explored?

I would like to inform the readers that no, I am no going to bring race tensions into my own stories - after all this story takes precedence primarily on an island that promotes both inclusiveness and exclusivity. Rather I would like to use this theme of the invisible to note the power of shaping our reality - a power that we fool ourselves to have. What we are trying to create? Comprehend? Condense and Compose? For Ellison, he found that not only have these foundations been built upon, they have been rotting. To the speaker in Ellison's world, and to us - the readers (in general) - these figures are all the same. Each attempting to force a version of a reality upon you and me, with these people not giving a single thought if this is how things look to us. As I look at my maudlin friend, blissfully dreaming of the "one that got away," unaware of what is to come, I admit this to you - my gods and goddesses:

I was simply a material, a natural resource to be used.

As I painfully stitch the mask onto my face with a thread and needle, let me take the time to confess this to you all. Those experimentation you saw in the first few chapters of this story, they were an attempt to try and break away from that mold. I admit, it did not go as well as I intended. I recognize that what I was doing was trying to become god. Yes, there is a difference between the verb and the noun. What you - my audience - are all familiar with is the noun of "God." In relating to polytheism or pantheism, in how God is this superhuman being/person regarded as having power over nature and our fortunes. You can clearly see the god's humor at play when we begin to organize the world of deities.

We have so many gods in our life. Do we understand if our god is truly our god? I ask of this myself everyday as I write these words down on the notebook that had changed my life. From the paternal gods of the Greeks, to the maternal gods of the East. To the monotheistic God, to the no gods. With our conditions as writers, we live in a perpetual state of godhood. When we write we create. When we erase, we destroy. When we edit, we transmute muck to gold. How godly are we to play these lives in the palm of our hands? How banal must their lives be compared to the banality of our lives? If I am a god, then people would worship me as a cruel one. I am a god of laughter - a god who sees laughter as the most magnificent. It is even more powerful than God.

For what is God, if one can laugh at it?

Truly that is the beauty of my own magnificence. Even now as I stand before you bloody and human, I empower anyone that reads my tragedies. Yet my laughter is also a tool for dis-empowerment for figures like me. But why? Why do I want to be refer to as such? I don't know. That "I don't know," is why laughter is magical. Laughter fills the silence of the void. Laughter booms in the silence of our lives. Laughter is magic. It is absolutely bewildering to witness the power of laughter, and how laughter can truly help us stomach the worse of humanities and demons.

As you watch me close the door to my dorm and, together, we walk down the one path that will lead me to my moment I want you to think for a moment, what our body does when we laugh. We voluntarily convulse our body, as if to exorcise whatever demons we have in us, to express our absolute amusement at the scene. But when you laugh long enough, when you laugh our your last laugh - something is left behind. Behind that humor is the true essence of laughter. Laugh long enough, and your start to cry. Laugh long enough, and you bellows become moans of constant sorrow.

We laugh to keep on crying

It would be just as absurd as with me talking to you, my beloved readers, or as when lord Gloucester is fully committed to suicide to express grief of his Edgar, or just as absurd as I stand before the white dorm, ready to once more destroy Fate's plans. This time, I will rape Fate of her virtue - for she deserves nothing but the most heinous of crimes; why should I pity Fate for her "infallible" decision to make my friend to suffer this night? Yet even as we know of the tragedy that befell onto my friend, it is just hilarious to watch this grief stricken man try to establish his worth in the world - with a simple card game. A cycle of comedy and tragedy - and the one mode of expression we can commit to? Laughter. Truly magical. Truly bewitching.

I must confess to you - the readers - that I certainly haven't felt this sense of dis-empowerment for quite some time. When I was trying to create something new - I tried to liberate myself of the shackles of the old. In reality, I was a hideous oppressive slob that took things as osmosis. I was shackled on being "new." It took me many years to understand that I had - NEEDED - to undergo apotheosis. That I need to become someone of new values and norms that only then could I truly create.

Behold! My creation that reflects the aesthetics of both beauty and ugliness. I ask for no worshipers, but only humble audiences to see my own descent to the depth of my mind.

So as we return to the story, as I hijack another man's story - another man's life and his world - I would like you to ponder on this question.

Who am I?  
Who is the "I"  
Because, even if I call myself a god, I certainly don't know if I am.

* * *

The first card is the Hanged Man. It is a card Sartorious is quite familiar with. For if the first card is a symbolic representation of how he feels of himself, then this is a card that symbolizes of an inner fear. The subtle terror of knowing that there is someone - or something - that must be sacrificed. A sacrifice for the future. Yet, every time he opens with this card, he does not know what he must sacrifice. His sanity? His humanity? His mercy? Time will tell for the Hanged Man, Sartorious knows, is a time of spiritual development. Perhaps tonight will be a night that may challenge his perspective.

The second card is of the Hermit. A rare card that Sartorious rarely draws. For if the second card represents what he want most right now, then this is a card that is befuddling. For the Hermit suggests that what he wants at this time is the knowledge of _what to do._ He knows his goals, to create the society that shines nothing but the light! So why the Hermit? He does not yearn for companionship, or feel lonely or isolated. How could he? Chazz Princeton and Alexis Rhodes have recruited so many followers for his Society, so why the Hermit? Is it because he is exhausted? From what?

The third card - the card that represents his fears - made Sartorious truly doubt this particular reading. The card is of the Sun. How could this be? How could he be afraid of the joys he is experiencing at this moment? Why would he shy away from things that are too good to be true? Why would he be afraid of having faith of being happy? Was the Society not a source of his joy? His ambitions? The Sun heralds an ending to difficulties and a time to celebrate with friends and loved ones. What is there to be afraid of the Sun?

The fourth card - the card that represents his strengths - is of the Magician. This card, much to Sartorious relief, is a card he can relate to. His self-belief, his self-confidence and ingenuity are key factors in making the Society what it is. Indeed, this is a card that does reflect his strength as the leader of the Society. For he will bring a new dawn to a new era - him as the shepherd to the sheep that flocks to his growing herd. Yes, the Magician truly does represent his strength as not just a leader, but of a man.

The fifth card -

Sartorious was unable to read as a thunderous sound of the piano roared from below. A sound which reverberated within his body down to the his bones. The composition which the mysterious pianist played below invokes a rich and unusual palette of absolute eerie. The metaphorical imagery which he conceptualizes are words which Theodor Adorno associates with this particular music: "heavy artillery," "lion's paws," "megalomania," and "Nero's complex." Words that made the leader of the Light stand in front of the doors that held both the piano and pianist behind.

Without another second wasted, he pushed the doors open.

* * *

The doors slammed opened, startling the occupants inside - but when they saw who it was, they (as the kids would say) got over it.

"Look who we have here! Did'ya get lost, idiot?"

"Wrong dorm you dork! Your dorm is on the other side!"

Taunt after taunt were hurled to the stranger, but he paid no attention to them. Why bother? They're just maggots who need to feast upon the dead for sustenance. Cowards who are just herds of a dead religion that should remain dead.

No.

That is wrong to think of. No, he should be a gracious _host._ They are, after all, in _his_ story. It is poor taste to leave these neanderthals to their own devices. Yes. Neanderthals. For what do they know of the aesthetics? They have yet seen his face. They only see his color. The yellow of his clothes, not white. But do they see the red blood on his face? The white of his mask? No, they're simply too blind - possibly because of the light.

Oh?  
There, across the floor. The only thing that is black in this room.  
How fitting.

"Hey! We're talking to you! What are you doin' here!?"

"You deaf!? We're talking to you!"

Soon Alexis and Chazz appeared amongst the crowd, "If you're here for Master Sartorious, then you better scram."

"Master Sartorious is busy," Alexis gently adds, "he won't be meeting with any visitors."

Master Sartorious. Master Sartorious. These cockroaches are rather repetitive aren't they? They think that the world revolves around this man who stands there, their sublime one, silent, dressed with the most heinous truths. The spoils of his hunt on each and every one of his so called disciples. Rich in his white garment, with thorns that adorn his crown - and yet, there is not a single rose on it. He laughs and surrounds himself in supposed beauty - oh how he returns from the forest of opportunity - coming home from a fight with monstrous men and devious children. What they do not know is that their master - beyond his seriousness and so called charity, is a savage beast - one that has yet been overcome.

Then again, he too is being hypocritical, for he hasn't overcome his - but rather embraced it.

With each step to his goal, he unclasps his duel disk that rests in front of him.

"You wanna know somethin'?" Chazz begins, "One by one, we've been lettin' in some of the more _exceptional_ students in this academy!" He waves his arm to the boys and girls that surrounded the masked outsider, "To add on top of that, your wearing the Ra yellow colors. I'm pretty sure we have every Ra students here, so then that means that you're the bottom of the barrel!"

They can talk all they want. The Nazis, under Hilter, talked. The French, under Napoleon, talked. The Christians, before their powers were challenged, talked. The Vikings, under Ragnar, talked. The Romans, under Augustulus, talked. They all talked, and like the societies that rose before them.

They will fall _silent_ to the sublime.

"Hey I know him!" One of the Ra students, now wearing a white blazer, recognized the stranger. "He's that copycat from last year!"

"Seriously?" The others from that particular class laughed, "Chazz is right, he's **_definitely_** the bottom of the barrel!"

"Hey who'ya gonna copy next? Crowler? That old windbag ain't worth nothin'!"

Listen to them laughing. They laugh and laugh and laugh. But you see, my audience, they laugh but they only laugh while in the safety of their herd. I see what their laughter are, an escape from the _stillest hour:_ the hour that belongs solely to our awesome mistress. What is this hour? Don't listen to me, listen to Nietzsche: Do you know the fright of those who falls asleep? They are frightened down to their very toes because the ground gives under and the dreams begin. This, he says to you, is a parable. That night, in the stillest hour, the ground gave under, and the dreams began. The hand moved, and the clock of life drew a breath. That breath, that ghostly breath that seemed impossible to exist, was the most frightening sound to echo in the mind's abyss.

Could you imagine the terror in which he felt? The terror in which I felt those nights that I faced alone? The terror of being spoken to by something _without a voice_? Pinning us to a never-ending fall into dreams, where it demands, "You know it, but you do not say it!" With each judgement, the volume becomes louder - but it speaks _without a voice!_ The thing demands me to say what I must say, and leave it be! Do you know the horror in which we felt each night when that voice comes to us? Do you know that _soundless voice_ that mocks us: "What matters of their mockery? You are the one who has forgotten to obey; now you shall command." To have this same muted presence jeer at us with the most malicious intent: "This is what is most unforgivable. You have power, and you do not want to rule."

Power, my gods and goddesses, is most terrifying. It is why I do have a tidbit of sympathy for these cockroaches. They too fear power, so they subject themselves to those that do have it. In the safety of numbers, they feel empower to mock those that are not them. Their laughter - what of it? Their laughter could never tear my entrails and slit open my heart like the one expressed in _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_. What of their laughter - when it sounds like children crying to their mothers? What are their laughter compare to the coffin Zarathustra imagines? The coffin that laughs a thousand times louder than theirs? What of their laughter - when Bastion had to walk down this road countless of time, and had to suffer their ridicule? When these lame and retarded sheep "baah" in stupid bliss, what do they know of our pain? Did they know just how much this night meant to Bastion - who truly lived to his namesake? Their guardian, their stronghold, their bulwark, Bastion Misawa? Yes. They may have conquered my friend that night, they may have broken him down to a giggling joker, sitting in the furthest corner of the room - bleeding hope and joy out of his orifice.

Tonight. It'll be them that bleeds.

He puts the disk on a coffee table that has yet to be occupied, and sat in front of the instrument Bartolomeo Cristofori blessed upon humankind for four hundred years.

"Go home, trash. This ain't a place for leftovers like _you_ to come into-"

He slams his fingers onto the first set of chords.

Silence.

" _Dimitri Kagurazaka presents..."_

The next chords were louder than the first.

" _A macabre story, hosted by the Marquis de Miseria, where Percy Shelly awaits for this final curtain call..."_

The final chord to Rachmaninov - Prelude in C Sharp Minor shook everyone soul to unease. Or perhaps, underneath the light which brightened my stage, exposing my grotesque but awe-inspiring art. For tonight, Dimitri Kagurazaka is dead. Tonight, is a night of tragedies waiting to be etched in this forever digital space. This story is...

"... _The second chapter to Tragodia..."_

 _"In Simulacrum."_


End file.
